


Surviving Happily Ever After

by OncefortheFun



Series: For the Win [2]
Category: Glee
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-25
Updated: 2016-09-24
Packaged: 2018-02-22 14:33:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 78,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2511188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OncefortheFun/pseuds/OncefortheFun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Quinn and Santana Fabray-Lopez got off to a rocky start, but now that they've gotten passed the crazy, all the lies have been told, and their secrets have been brought out into the open, all that's left to do is to figure out how to live with each other and hope they have what it takes to find their happy ending. Sequel to "For the Win". You don't have to have read FTW to enjoy, but it helps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

Quinn was in a rush to get to the office, and was not driving nearly as carefully as she probably should have. She checked the time on her dash again.  _Shit_. She only had 15 more minutes to get to work and get clocked in, and had at least a 10 minute car ride. Quinn had her sights on a promotion coming up in her department, and Ryan had been doing his best to suck up to the boss and demean Quinn at every turn. She couldn't have tardies on her record right now.

"Come on," she hummed, hitting her steering wheel in frustration. Fighting down the urge that told her she shouldn't, she shifted her foot down on the gas, cutting off the car in the left lane as she eased her car into the space in front of the driver. There were screeching breaks, and honking horns, and Quinn was so busy with keeping the car straight, that she didn't see the cop car in her rear-view mirror until it was too late. She gave a look down at the speedometer and cussed. " _Shit!"_ she screamed. This is the very last thing that she needed at the moment.

For a brief moment she considered gunning it and trying to outdistance the officer, but they were on a motorcycle; she wouldn't make it far. While the officer made his way to the window, Quinn went searching for her identification. There was a tap on her window. Quinn composed herself, put on her very best Fabray smile, and rolled down the window. "Morning officer!" she chirped so gaily it would have done Rachel Berry proud. "How are you?"

"Do you know why I pulled you over this morning, ma'am?" Why did officers bother asking that question? What did he expect her to say:  _because I was speeding and nearly ran a car off the road?_ That was called incriminating one's self, and that wasn't going to happen.

"Um…no sir."

The cop pulled 'his' helmet off, revealing a mane of very sensual, chestnut colored locks, that she shook out. "Do I  _look_  like a man to you?"

At the display, Quinn noticed the things she had missed being occupied with finding her license and registration. Not only was the officer a woman, she was very much so. She had a short, but well built frame that was willowy and curvy, and damn was she gorgeous. Her face was flawless, perfect, and her lips were pillow soft and looked extremely kissable. "Er…no, ma'am. You  _definitely_ don't look like a man." She gave a sly smile. She didn't see what harm a little friendly flirting would do, and maybe she could get out of getting a ticket. "At all."

"I didn't think so," the woman returned cockily. "I don't know of any men out there as sexy as me. License and registration, please?"

Quinn handed the items over. The woman looked them over. "Do you know why I pulled you over Ms. Lopez."

"It's Mrs. Fabray-Lopez," Quinn gently corrected, hearing her wife in her head, "and no ma'am," she lied. "I don't."

"I pulled you over because you were driving recklessly over the speed limit."

"Was I?" Quinn gave a pout of her lips and let her eyes expand. "I didn't even realize. I'm  _so_  sorry."

"Are you?"

Quinn nodded contritely. "Yes, ma'am. I was just on my way to work and I might have gone a mile or two over the speed limit by accident, but just because I was anxious to get to the office. If I promise not to do it again, can you just let me off with a warning?"

The woman peered at her over her sunglasses. "Do you understand how inconsiderate it is to speed on the highway? When it comes to  _the road_ all parties should share equally. Otherwise, only one party is happy, but when all involved participate equally everyone is happy. Do you understand?"

Quinn nodded rapidly. "Oh, yes ma'am, I do."

The officer's eyes narrowed. "I don't think you do. For some reason, Mrs. Lopez, you strike me as a very selfish person,  _on the road_.

"I'm not," Quinn tried to assure her. She didn't want this beautiful woman to think that she was selfish. She was  _very_ generous.

"I  _could_  give you a warning," the woman considered, "but you see if I did, I don't think that you would truly learn your lesson."

Quinn allowed her voice to fall to a more sultry tone. "I promise, I've learned my lesson. I'm a really," she paused to really emphasis the word, "quick learner."  
The officer smirked and titled her head. "You see, Mrs. Lopez, that's exactly what I'm talking about."

"Fabray-Lopez. My wife, she's pretty anal about it."

"Oh your wife is, is she? As I was saying, Mrs. Fabray," she teased the name, "Lopez. You move too fast. Some things you need to take slow."

"Like what?" she said innocently.

"Like  _driving_."

Quinn seemed flustered. "I'm not sure I understand."

"Please step out of the car Mrs," and she paused again, "Fabray-Lopez."

"Why?" Quinn questioned. "Have I done something wrong?"

"An officer of the law gave you a direct command, ma'am. I need you to step out of your vehicle, please."

With reluctance and confusion, Quinn undid her seat belt and stepped out of the car. "What is this about, officer?" She was pushed forcefully into the body of her car. "Do you have any contraband on you? Weapons that I should know about?"

"Of course not!" Quinn screeched. "What are you doing!" the officer's hands had started to move on her body. "I'm searching you," she informed. "Please, don't move."

"I don't think that this is…oh!" She let out a shriek because the woman's hand had gone over her butt, and she had squeezed. At the same time she was pushed further into the side of her car. "If you continue to resist, I will have to cuff you and call for back up, and I don't wish to do that. Please, let me do my job."

Quinn felt her body being pushed into the van again, but this time she felt the woman's back pressed up against her. Her breast pushed into her back. Her legs were kicked apart, spreading her open. She felt something lightly brush against her neck. At first she didn't know what it was, but the second time it happened, she realized that it was those lips, those pillow-like kissable lips, had been pressed against the back of her neck. The movements on her body slowed, as the woman's hands gently kneaded Quinn's breasts. Her breath hitched. "See, how much better it is when you don't  _rush_?"

One of the cops' hands found its way inside her blouse, gently tucking the hem out from her skirt. "Oh," Quinn gasped when her nipple was pinched sharply. She moaned when it was pinched again, because this time the cop had rolled her hips into her backside, and it had felt oh so good. "Oh God." She felt a tug on her hair, jerking her head back. Lips quickly attached themselves to her skin, taking small, nibbley bites. The officer laughed. "Turn around."

Quinn did as she was commanded. Lips not so gently wrapped around her neck, sucking and licking at the skin. The woman slowly licked her way up to Quinn's lips before she gave her a rough kiss, and Quinn had been right: totally kissable. Quinn arched into the woman's caresses, and it didn't surprise either of them that she was incredibly turned on when the cop's hand slid beneath her skirt and past the hem of her underwear. "So you are a fast learner after all," she leered. "On your knees!"

Quinn had a moment of pause. "What?"

"On your knees! You're going to give me head, and show me that you learned your lesson about speeding through places when you should be taking your time."

Quinn sank to her knees in front of this incredible sexy, commanding woman, as the officer started to undo her utility belt. She casually let it fall to the ground, before undoing her trouser pants, and exposing the boy shorts beneath. "If you do a really good job, I'll give you a lesson in sharing that you won't ever forget." Quinn could smell the woman's arousal, and licked her lips in anticipation of what she was about to do. The woman took a step closer…

Quinn woke up to the feeling of Santana attempting to slide out of the bed. Quinn tightened her hold on her. "Not yet," she grumbled. Her wife's laughter invaded the dream she was trying oh so desperately to cling to. It was just getting good!

Santana chuckled. "I've gotta, babe, if I'm going to make the gym before work."

 _Stay and I'll give you an even better work out,_  she wanted to say. "Lay with me just a few more minutes," she attempted to barter, instead.

In answer, Santana leaned down and placed a kiss on Quinn's lips. "I'll make it up to you later, babe, I promise."

A half-awake Quinn sighed but let her go. Santana had been getting up early, without fail, for over a month. It'd started with a desire to make sure that she was in better than good shape for the physical she was made to take to make sure 'everything was in working order' before she could be reinstated with the GSA, but since then it's become a kind of a compulsion. "You never make it up to me," she said to herself, pulling Santana's pillow to her chest. It was a poor substitute, but at least it smelled like her. Dream cop-Santana hadn't smelled like her wife. Dream cop Santana had smelled like polyester and gunpowder, but damn she'd been so hot.

Quinn was so wound up that she was tempted to get off by humping Santana's pillow, just to see what her wife would do when they went to bed tonight and got a whiff of her. Actually…she scratched that plan. She'd probably just make Quinn switch with her, and as much as Quinn liked her smell, she didn't want to sleep on it.

She listened to Santana get dressed, and was surprised when the bed dipped under Santana's weight. She gently pulled the pillow away to slide into the space between Quinn's arms. She smiled when lips were pressed lightly against hers. "Te amo, me amour," Santana said softly.

"I love you, too," Quinn replied. She opened her eyes and briefly made eye contact with Santana before the woman pulled away from her. She kissed her on the forehead. "See you when you get home," she said softly. And then she was gone.

Once alone, Quinn allowed herself to fully let out a sigh. Nothing was wrong. Things had finally kind of settled down between them. They were getting the hang of this being married to each other thing. They were learning how to trust each other, to come to each other first before making harmful assumptions that did their marriage no good. They didn't get into fights every other day. They weren't playing musical apartments anymore, or stressed to the max. The book that had been occupying Santana's life for the past couple of months had debut o huge successes. Things were quiet with Santana's side job, and except for the physical, and the three dinners that they'd had with Bryne, it was like it didn't even exist.

Bryne, in a home setting, was like a mixture of Brittany and Tina. She did idle talk, was fun to quote movies with, could effortlessly make you laugh, but was secretly far more intelligent than you imagined, and deep down you wondered if maybe she was secretly a vampire. The first dinner things had been kind of tense between her and Santana, but by the third one it was like they were all old friends. She even had a real name-Brynley Ann Matheson- answered questions, and volunteered conversation. The places she talked about were most likely places she'd actually been to, but her talk of her childhood, and early adulthood, Quinn was sure that those, like the name, were no doubt faked, but it made Quinn feel better, like she was just any nice, normal co-worker of her wife's.

They hadn't had sex in months now, but that was only because they were sticking to their self-imposed celibacy. That was annoying, because she enjoyed having sex with her wife, but just because they weren't having sex, didn't mean that they weren't still intimate with each other. Santana could still kiss her breathless; Quinn could still get Santana to start panting with little effort. Santana still came up behind her when she was cooking in the kitchen, and laid kisses on her neck; Quinn still got into the shower with her on occasion. Once, she demanded that Santana masturbate for her, which might have been cheating, but damn was it hot. They still touched each other, but in a high school, both feet on the ground –except for the showering together-kind of way.

There were no more damaging secrets between them anymore. I mean how could there still be? There wasn't much left for them to be surprised by. That her wife had managed to keep a semi-dangerous job from her for 9 or 10 years, that was old news by now. That she was proficient in several languages, as well as several different modes of defense, and could shoot out the star on carnival events because she had sniper like shooting abilities…well that just meant that Santana could win her the big teddy bear instead of the cheap consolation prize when they went to the Brockton fair. Oh, and every woman's biggest fear- that their partner had a secret family - that was exposed, brought to light, and gotten over.

Speaking of said family, well not really of the family as much as the son who was currently five; they hadn't even heard so much as a whisper about him since they'd gone over to Hazel's apartment to find it completely cleaned out, but Santana seemed okay. She had a brief breakdown when she tried to figure out what she should do with the gifts she brought him back from Arizona, but other than that, she was okay. She wasn't denial Quinn junior year, and she wasn't crazy Quinn senior year. As far as Quinn knew, Santana was coping with the whole situation. She hadn't shut Quinn out. She was neither pretending that it didn't happen, nor was she moping. She was dealing with it. With him disappearing. She would talk to Quinn about it, something that past Santana wouldn't do, and past Quinn wouldn't do.

Everything was coming together, settling down. There was nothing wrong with them. Things just weren't exactly…right.

Santana had left out a breakfast of oatmeal, a hardboiled egg, and a half glass of V-8, on the kitchen counter, and Quinn tucked into it as soon as she saw it. She pulled up her favorite news apps and sifted through some world news articles while she slowly consumed her food. She thought about calling Mercedes, but thought against it, and continued to eat her breakfast in silence. She wondered if it was silly that she was missing her wife, especially since she had only just left the house.

Unfortunately, the ride in to work was completely uneventful. There were no sexy Santana cops to stop her and ravish her along the way. The drive went smoothly, and she even got a good parking space, which used to be the markers of a good day. Maybe it was because everything seemed right at the moment that things seemed wrong to her, Quinn mused. At no point in her relationship with Santana would she have described things as being anywhere close to 'smooth'. Maybe it was because they weren't fighting with each other, and inadvertently hurting the others feelings, that she felt off. Maybe that's honestly what it took for her relationship to survive…geez, if that was the case, Quinn really needed to see a therapist.

While Quinn fixed herself a cup of coffee, she chastised herself for feeling like there was something wrong because nothing was wrong.

"How's it going, Fabray?"

Quinn kind of tensed, fixing her face as she turned to acknowledge her coworker. "Fabray-Lopez, Ryan," she corrected. "You know I'm married."

Ryan followed her back to her cube, his eyes automatically falling to the photos on Quinn's desk. There were three of them, and all three had been taken on her wedding day, even though they had been taken on three separate days. The one on the left was of her and Santana on their first wedding day, the day they actually got married, with Quinn dressed in green and looking like a wood nymph. She kind of liked the hippy look on her. The one on the right was at their re-do wedding with both she and Santana wearing somewhat more traditional gowns. The one in the middle, she had had to get permission from Santana to put up, but it was taken on the beach by Puck, and it was of her, and her wife, with Philip in the center.

Quinn booted up her computer and logged into her terminal. Ryan leaned against her cube wall. "Who's the kid?" Ryan questioned.

"Santana's son, Philip. " she knew she already answered this question, but she was sure Ryan only asked it again to annoy her.

"Cute kid. He looks like her."

Quinn turned back to look at the picture, as she often did whenever someone mentioned Phil and Santana's resemblance. She couldn't deny it was true. Philip looked like the Italian version of her wife, with some features that could be Puck's. Hazel didn't look like Santana, and Jenna's brother, 'Bug', didn't look like Puck, but together they had created a kid that looked like a mix of the mother of her future children and the father of her current child.

Quinn smiled. "Yea, he does. He's going to be a real heartbreaker when he gets a little older. Was there something that I could help you with, Ryan? I was kind of busy."

"How's the Suffolk Fidelity account going for you?"

Quinn nodded. The little turd had just come to spy. Ever since Ryan realized that he couldn't have her, he went to wanting whatever she wanted. A promotion was coming up, nothing big, just something slightly better than lateral. It came with a slight pay raise, and a team of two people. Quinn wanted it because it would give her management experience, which would put her into pool for upward movement, and Ryan had expressed no interest in the position until Quinn had decided to go after it, but this guy had no idea who he was up against. "It's going well. Just a lot to do."

"Well, I don't want to keep you from things. Nice chatting with you, Quinn."

"And you as well. See you around."

The day kind of dragged, and she caught herself looking over at Santana's picture several times throughout the day. 5:00 rolled, and even though it was Friday and she had hit 40 hours at 3:00, she didn't stop working. Santana was probably at the gym again, and wouldn't be home for another couple of hours anyway, and besides she had work that still needed to be finished. She fired off a quick text letting Santana know that she would be home late. She was surprised when she got a response almost immediately.

**Santana Fabray-Lopez: Britts. Should be here for a few hours.**

**Quinn Fabray-Lopez: Ok. What do you want for dinner?**

The new, improved, more rational and secure in her marriage Quinn, didn't panic at the words on her phone. That this was the third time in two weeks that Santana had spent with Brittany didn't even trigger any strong emotions on Quinn's part. Santana, however, was learning her wife, too.

**Santana Fabray-Lopez: Using home equipment to shoot stuff.**

Brittany didn't still film FF2 episodes at her residence, but the old equipment was still set up there, and Quinn had spent most of her adult life trying not to imagine what Brittany used said equipment for.

**Quinn Fabray-Lopez: I'm feeling pizza tonight if you want.**

**Santana Fabray-Lopez: Def be down 4 that. Wanna eat over here or home?**

**Quinn Fabray-Lopez: Home.**

**Santana Fabray-Lopez: Come pick me up when you're done? We can get Marcos!**

Quinn texted back her affirmative answer and hung up the phone. When 7:00 rolled around, she clocked out and drove over to Brittany and Tamara's house. No one answered her knock, but the door was unlocked, so she let herself in and headed upstairs at the sound of her wife's voice.

"…and they all lived happily ever after." After a second, Santana gave a satisfied nod at the camera. Quinn walked fully into the room, taking in the set up, and the camera.

"What're you doing?" she questioned, curiously.

Santana smiled at the camera, holding her finger up, off frame. "And  _that's_  how I met your mother."

She pushed 'stop' on the remote and turned her attention to Quinn. "I'm recording a video for little Tanner or Little Anita, so they can watch this when they're like teenagers and stuff and think about how cool it is, or see my hotness and be like 'damn, she's still got it'. I got the idea from that show,  _How I Met Your Mother_."

Quinn smirked. "Tanner?"

"If it's a boy. And Anita if it's a girl. In Spanish ita or ito is like a term of endearment, and there's only  _one_  Santana, so they can be a little Santanita-well really it would be Santancita, but whoever heard of someone named Ancita?-ergo 'Anita'."

Quinn hoped that Santana's thoughts made sense in her own mind. She placed a gentle hand on the side of Santana's face. "Sweetie, I love you, but don't you think that…um… _we_  should decide on our kids names together?"

Santana's facial expression showed her confusion. "Uh…duh."

"And people usually wait until they're pregnant to start making videos for their kids."

Santana smiled, and shook her head. "This isn't for our kids. This is for the little Troutytot. I'm going to film one for Squishy next. I know Tamara and Britt think it's going to be a girl, but I still think it's going to be a boy, so he can be named Santiago, and they can call him Tio for a nickname."

"Who is Squishy?"

"Brittany and Tamara's kid? Finding Nemo?" When Quinn didn't seem to catch the reference Santana shrugged it off. "It's Brittany."

"You're expecting our friends to name their children after you?"

"Not expect, will allow. I think that they've proven their loyalty to me enough to bestow that privilege on them, and I trust them enough to raise their children to bring honor to my name."

Quinn snorted then gave an all out laugh. "You're not serious, are you?" Santana nodded solemnly, shooting Quinn an appalled look at her response. "You've got such a big ego, Santana!"

Santana stood up with a suggestive smile. "I've got a  _really_  big ego, babe. You want to see how big of an ego I've got?"

Quinn strong armed her to keep her from getting closer before she could get too close. "Don't start, San," she said, sternly.

"Oh, come on, babe, I wants to get my kisses on!"

"No! I'm cutting you off! I'm tired of you blue waffling me, Santana!"

Santana snickered. " I don't think that means what you think it means, babe."

Quinn poked a finger in her chest. "You know what I mean. No riling me up just to pull back when I'm all hot and bothered and have to go take a cold shower."

"Cold shower? We have an adjustable-head shower hose, babe. You turn it on real warm, and you grab the neck and position it like so-,"

Quinn grabbed Santana's hand to keep her from demonstrating how to pleasure oneself with their shower nozzle in the middle of Brittany's house. "This video," she pointed, trying to get off of the topic of sex.

"Yeah, I was just telling about how Mercedes and I met, and about you, and us of course."

"Have you ever watched the show?"

Santana shrugged. "Not really."

Quinn gave her a peck on the lips. "Watch the show. I don't think you quite got the concept of it. It's about how the  _father_  met their  _mother_."

Santana let out a noise. "That makes more sense! So I should totally like do this for  _our_  kids."

Quinn nodded. "Yes. I know I'm probably really late in asking this, but  _when_  did you meet Mercedes."

Santana laughed at the expression on Quinn's face, because despite how much they knew about each other, there was still so many things that were new. "3rd grade. I met Berry in fourth, Puck and Finn I met when I was 7…so second grade. I met Mike then, too."

"You've known all of them that long and it took you  _that_  long to become friends with them?"

"Whoa. Just because I insulted Mercedes all the time, doesn't mean that we weren't friendly. I never really had any beef with her until Puck got interested in her. Finn and I were friends at some point but then high school happened, and he just seemed to become so much more fucking morally superior than all of us minions that surrounded him, that I couldn't deal with my imperfections anymore and had to find other friends. Puck, of course we were raising hell together, Chang we've always been cool; we've never been super close friends, but we've always been friendly."

"When'd you meet me?"

Santana rolled her eyes. "You know when I met you, stop fishing, baby."

"What about Brittany?"

"You know that, too."

Quinn was actually surprised that Santana was over here when Brittany wasn't, and she wondered if the other times she had come over it had been the same story. "Where  _is_  Brittany?"

Santana rolled her eyes. "Tamara has her out running errands."

Quinn looked around. "Okay, so where's Tamara?"

"Working. She went into the studio shortly after Brittany left. I think she was just using it as a diversion to get Brittany out of the house so she could get away because Brittany's been kind of 'hovery' lately. Is that a word, hovery?" Santana shrugged. "And also…she keeps trying to get Tamara to dance with her."

"Why?"

"Because she wants their baby to be a dancer like Tio's other mommy, duh. So she's not talking to the belly, she's trying to dance with it."

"You don't honestly think that Tamara is going to let you name their baby after you, do you?"

"I don't see why she wouldn't want to."

"Do you think  _I'd_ be cool with our son being named Pierce?"

Santana kind of winced, the happy smile disappearing from her face. "I can see your point," she said.

"Santana…?"

She gave a somewhat strained smile. "I'll finish this up later, it's not like the baby's going to be born tomorrow anyway. Let's get our pizza on."

An hour later they were home, and Santana was looking for something for them to watch, while Quinn fished out plates and napkins and grabbed a glass of water for Santana, and a wine cooler for herself. Santana was already situated on the couch when Quinn came in from the kitchen, and as she sat down in between Santana's legs, the thought occurred to her that this was possibly the first time that she'd allowed her wife to hold her since she got back from the Southwest.

Santana must have realized it to, because she gave a happy little hum, placing a kiss on the back of Quinn's neck. Quinn leaned back into her. "So what are we watching?"

Santana had just taken a bite of pizza when she asked so she had to wait a second or two before she could answer.  _"Los Hombres de Paco_."

"The… _brother's_  of Paco?"

"Close Paco's men. It's a Spanish soap opera."

"Umm…why?"

"Because the R&B indoctrination I promised you is postponed because I didn't think making you listen to songs about knocking boots was right until we're knocking boots again, so until then, I thought we should explore some other parts of our heritage."

"Um…I'm not Hispanic."

"And I'm not European, but I still sang 'ring around the rosies' when I was a little kid, besides, Mrs. Lopez-,"

"Fabray-Lopez,"

"You are Hispanic now, and one day you shall be teaching my children-,"

" _Our_  children,"

"And I can't have you falling short. Otherwise you'll go telling them that Christopher Columbus and Davy Crockett were heroes."

"Y _ou're_ not Spanish, either."

"Do you even  _know_  where Mexicans come from? Ay, what are they teaching these young children in school these days? Quinn, once upon a time, there were not really 'Mexicans' there were the Aztec and there were the Europeans. And then they not so happily cohabitated together, and thus a 'mixed' culture sprang up. So, there's some Spanish heritage in nearly all of the Mexican- and I might even venture to say the Latin American-peoples, sort of the same way that black Americans don't look the same as black Africans. But that wasn't the culture I was referring to, though I  _am_  going to need you to improve on your Spanish; I was talking about exploring your  _gay_  heritage. I would have started us off with the L-Word, but then that would have led to a discussion about who was the Bette and who was the Tina, and we're not ready to have that discussion, yet."

"Who are Bette and Tina?"

"And that's why we're watching  _Los Hombres de Paco_. It's like  _Rizzoli & Isles _onlyinstead of the producers playing up the characters' obvious chemistry and then mocking their gay audiences for noticing, well…you'll see. This is so much better!"

"But I don't speak Spanish," Quinn protested.

"I should tell you to just deal with it; learn the language or get out, but I'm feeling generous." Santana played with the remote. "I put on the subtitles for you."

"You're so kind."

"Anything for you, babe."

They ate slowly because Santana had to explain the relationships between the characters, because she started them off in season 6, when Pepa is first introduced to the show, and so much happened in the previous seasons that she had to catch her up to speed. "Would you ever make out with someone at a church?" Quinn questioned, almost immediately after hearing their back story.

"If I was stoned, maybe."

Quinn turned to look at her. "Would you really?"

Santana shook her head. "No way, there are some things I find sacred. Geez!"

A few more minutes passed in near silence. "Pepa kind of reminds me of you." Santana kind of chuckled, but didn't say anything. "You're prettier."

Santana traced a finger over Quinn's skin, softly, the only indication that she'd heard her. "Are you done with the pizza?" Santana questioned. "Or are you going to get another slice?"

Quinn had already had three and it wasn't like they were small slices. That fourth was looking awfully delicious, but unlike her wife, she wasn't going to the gym every day. "I'm done," she answered. Santana stood up to take the box into the kitchen. "Can you bring me my ice cream?" Quinn called out to her. Santana didn't answer, but she did bring the pint carton back with her, and Quinn shifted up so she could sit back behind her.

Quinn felt lips on the back of her neck as Santana adjusted. When she was seated, Quinn leaned into her.

"We need a thing."

"What do you mean?" Santana reached around to dip something into Quinn's carton. It was a carrot. Santana had brought a pack back with her when she'd gotten up.

Quinn jerked when she saw it. "San, that's gross!"

"No, it's not babe," she said as she pushed the carrot in Quinn's face. "Try it!"

"Quinn laughed as she pushed it away. "Ew. Doesn't it defeat the purpose of eating a carrot if you dip it in ice cream?"

"No, it enhances it. It's a scientific fact; the carrot regulates any calories that the ice cream has in it, rendering whatever you dip a carrot into calorie-free."

"That's ridiculous."

"No, it's how I maintain this body that you love so much." Santana moved to dip the carrot again, but Quinn moved the carton away. "Q, quite being a little piggy and share!"

"Get your own!"

"We live in a community property state, babe. What's mine is yours, and what's yours is mine; the law says you have to share!"

Quinn was still busy trying to figure out how someone could be so annoying, and so adorable at the same time. She held the carton close enough to Santana so that she could dip her carrot in it. "Gonna try it now?"

"No, that's still gross," she protested. She realized, too, that this little back and forth between them had pretty much been the most light-hearted things had been between them in a while.

Santana rolled her eyes, and continued to chomp on her carrot. "What were you saying?"

"A thing, we need a thing."

"For what?"

"To have something that we do together. You were complaining a little while ago about the fact that we are too young to stay in on Friday nights, yet it's Friday, and here we are, at home, watching TV."

"Do you not like this show?"

Actually, despite being horrifically lost about the back story, she was enjoying the show tremendously. "I like the show, and trust me, I like doing this with you. I'm just saying that we need something that we can do together as a couple."

Santana thought about it as she chomped on a carrot. "Are we those kind of people?"

Quinn turned in her arms. "Would it be so bad if we were?"

Santana leaned up to kiss her. "If you want to be those kind of people, we can be those kind of people, babe. So what kind of people do you want us to be? Like crafts people?"  
"Crafts?"

"Yeah," she said, enthusiastically. "We can take up sculpting and recreate that ghost scene."

Santana trailed her hands up Quinn's arms, raising the skin.

"I don't see us as crafters."

"Oh, but baby we can take flower arrangement courses, and learn how to dry flowers, and make centerpieces, and crochet cozies and doilies."

Quinn hit her lightly. "You're teasing!"

Santana held up her fingers. "Only a little babe."

"I was being serious, San."

"I said only a little! It was a  _little_  tease. Just a little. What about cycling. We can go buy  _Specialized_ bikes, with the pedals that you have to have special shoes, and sign up for a what's the marathon for bicyclist?"

"A century ride."

"What's that?"

"It's a hundred mile bike ride."

"Yeah, that, we can do that."

She tried to imagine her and Santana biking around Boston, but the only thing that she could really see was Santana in super tight bike shorts, refreshing herself with ice cold water that accidentally missed her mouth and soaked into her shirt, causing her nipples to harden, and…Quinn liked her lips.

"It's a thought. I wouldn't be against something physical. Yoga maybe."

Santana quickly dismissed that. "No, and no, babe. I am open to us finding something to do together, but not that. No way. We are not going to be the lesbians who do yoga, and drink bobo,"

"You mean boba?"

"And chi tea, and buy up real estate in inner cities so that it pushes out the poor people who've lived in the neighborhoods forever, and take selfies about urban decay. No ma'am."

"Wow, pretty strong feelings there, hon. It was just Yoga."

Santana rapidly shook her head. "It's never just Yoga. Gentrification is like the stealing of Native American lands all over again. I wrote a paper about it."

"Okay, okay, no Yoga. We could do volunteer work."

Santana actually paused. "I like that. I already read at the Children's Hospital twice a month, but that's not really a lot. What kind of volunteer work are you talking? I wouldn't mind something that involves getting dirty."

"Of course you wouldn't," Quinn smirked.

"Hey, it's been you and not me that's had her mind in the gutter lately. Thanksgiving and Christmas are right around the corner, so pretty much any charity that deals with food will have plenty of volunteers right now."

"Battered woman shelter?"

Santana's face closed up. "No. Not…I can't right now. Not that, not youth programs…I can't," It was hard enough for her to still go to the Children's Hospital, but she had been doing that long before Phil was even born. Quinn placed a hand on Santana's shoulder, and her wife just collapsed at the touch. "I just keep thinking, 'what if I didn't tell him I loved him enough'? I said those words to him, but did I say it enough for him to know it's forever? Did I say it enough to last a life time? I told him I would walk him into his classroom when I got back, and I didn't. I told him I'd bring him back something from my vacation, and I didn't. I missed when he turned five, Q, and that's a big age: five! And then I feel guilty because all I want to do is talk to you about it, and I feel guilty about that, because I got five more years than you did, so it should be enough, right? That should be enough? But what if I didn't say it enough, what if he doesn't know? What if he forgets? What if he grows up thinking I didn't love him?"

Quinn held her as tightly as she could with the awkward angle, as her wife silently cried. Quinn threaded her fingers through her hair, lightly scratching her scalp every now and then. Her hair was still short. It would have grown out by now, but Santana had cut it again. Quinn wasn't kidding when she said that it was sexy, but it represented a change that she wasn't quite ready for. She was amazed that they'd gotten to a place where Santana would actually allow her to hold her while she cried.

"We could be gardeners."

Santana sniffled. "We don't have a garden."

"We will when we get our house."

Santana pulled her face out of Quinn's lap. "So you want a house? Not an apartment, but a house?"

"I  _guess_  we could move into a new apartment, but I kind of want this place to be  _our_ place. Like I don't want a starter home, I want a home that we can grow into. That we can raise our kids and grow old in, you know?"

Santana nodded. "That's how I feel, too."

Quinn moved fingers up and down Santana's arms. No more tears fell but she was still breathing erratically. "You can talk to me about anything, honey. Even if it'll make either of us sad, I'll still do my best to listen."

Santana nodded into her wife's lap. "This feeling doesn't ever go away does it?"

Quinn grimaced slightly. "Not really, but with time it doesn't hurt  _as_  much."

Santana held Quinn's hand, interlocking their fingers. "Babe?"

Her tone was cautions, so Quinn braced herself. "Yeah?"

"Would you be upset if I told you that I don't think I'm going to be ready to have a baby for some time? I don't want Phil thinking…that I went out and replaced him or anything, and I know it's like all of our friends are like baby making right now, but- "

Quinn stopped her. "Is that why you've been avoiding me?"

"I haven't been avoiding you, Q, not exactly, but all of this is hard, and it's new to me. I thought, I thought I was prepared for if this happened, and I wasn't. I thought it wouldn't… _feel_  like this, and I know I said I wanted a whole brood, but now…it's going to be awhile before I'm ready." She stared at her wife earnestly.

Quinn kissed the top of her head. "San, if you decided that you just wanted it to be the two of us, for the rest of our lives, I wouldn't be upset with you. If we ended up having a house full, or none at all, as long as it's you I'm sharing a life with, that's all that matters."

"That and Powerball?"

"The odds of you ever winning are 1 in 175 million."

"I won you and your 1 in 7 billion."

Quinn shook her head. "So corny." Quinn kissed her on the lips. "I love you, San."

"Love you, too."

They stayed like that for a few more minutes, but then Santana pushed play and the sounds of the Spanish soap opera once again filled the apartment.

"San?"

"Yeah, baby?"

"Do you think we will? Live happily ever after, I mean?"

Santana pressed pause again, taking a moment to think about it. "I guess we're going to have to; I already wrote the book. It's too late to change the ending."

* * *


	2. Lazy Saturdays In

Quinn knew that it was too early for her wife to be wiggling on the bed, just from how tired she still was. She tightened her hold on Santana, so she couldn't move. "It's Saturday, honey, it's okay to sleep in," she said sleepily.

"I'm getting up to make you breakfast."

"What time is it?"

There was a pause. "6:00."

She shook her head. "Nope, too early," Quinn said, pulling Santana back down. "Lay down," she commanded.

Santana gave a kind of chuckle/giggle. "Am I your dog now, baby?"

Quinn rolled over onto her, using her body weight to pin Santana to the bed. "Stay."

Quinn knew she won when Santana's arms went around her waist. She shifted them, though, so they were both on their sides, and she pulled Quinn into her arms. "If baby wants me to stay, I'll stay."

Quinn snuggled against her. "Good, cause you owe me make-up cuddles."

Santana pressed her lips to Quinn's forehead. "I do owe you make-up cuddles," she agreed.

"Can we stay in bed all day?"

"But I have to make you breakfast."

"You don't  _have_  to."

"Yes, I do. I made a promise."

Quinn smiled at that. She loved that Santana held herself to a silly promise that she made when she was attempting to coax Quinn into saying yes to marrying her. She loved that she stuck to her promises, even the small ones. (And she loved that her wife had proposed to her via orgasm, and then pretended to be oblivious as to why this was not a social norm the next day).

"And I have to go to the gym."

Quinn's hands tightened around Santana. "You don't have to go to the gym."

Santana shook her head. "Yes, I do."

"Why have you been spending so much time at the gym? Did you develop a crush on one of the personal trainers or something? Some 40-something milf been waving her newly trimmed ass your way?"

Santana snorted at the visual. "No, babe, you're the only milf I wanna fuck. I'm at the gym because I seem to have an excess amount of energy lately, and I've been trying to work it off."  _What in the world did that even…_ oh. Oh! "You kind of sleep sex me, babe."

Even though Quinn hadn't yet opened her eyes, she felt herself blushing. "Have I really!"

Santana laughed, and Quinn was so curious to know if her wife was watching her that she finally did open them, only to see that Santana's brown eyes were alight in amusement. "Hi."

Quinn smiled. "Hi," she said back. Quinn leaned forward, initiating a kiss. She loved early morning kisses with Santana. Nothing beat a first thing in the morning, both parties still half-asleep, fondling kiss. It was second only to wake-up sex. Quinn kissed the breath out of Santana's lungs and then pulled away, a wicked smile on her face. Hey, she had been the president of the Chastity Club after all. She knew how to tease better than most.

It took a moment for Santana's breath to return. "Damn," she mumbled. She licked her lips to gather up any lingering Quinn on them. "And yes, yes you do. What was it this morning?"

"Laboratory," Quinn admitted with a blush. "I was a medical examiner and you had me on the counter doing some in-depth under cover investigating."

Quinn could see the scenario playing out in Santana's mind because she went quiet for a few minutes, occasioning a smile every now and then. "Someone's been watching too much Los Hombres de Paco," Santana chided.

"Que es esto para ti?"

"Muy bien, Quinnie!"

Quinn laughed, but continued. "Un roya o…I didn't catch the rest of that. What is a roya?"

"Roya is lightning, which still kind of fits. But she said, rollo. Two ll's makes the yo sound. It means roll or affair. I like to think that you are an exotic adventure, baby." Santana initiated a long, slow-burning kiss.

When she tried to pull away, Quinn buried her fingers in her shirt, keeping her close. "You're not going to the gym today," she said firmly. "If you've got some excess energy you need to burn off, I've got something better that we can do."

Santana smiled at that. "Oh really?"

Quinn brought her lips up to her wife's. "Really," she responded.

From time to time, Santana forgot that she was married to Quinn Fabray (Lopez). Santana's idea of burning off excess energy: sex, or in the absence of that, a hot and heavy make-out session, or even going for a jog together and getting to watch her wife's ass and breasts bounce as they moved beside or behind each other. But no…Quinn was Quinn, and had far different ideas. After a couple more hours in bed with each other, and Santana making breakfast for them (mini quinoa breakfast quiches with passion fruit and slices of avocado), Quinn got set on showing Santana how she wanted to get rid of excess energy: rearranging the apartment. Starting with the bedroom and moving their way out.

Santana had been building up quite an endurance over the past few weeks, but after moving the bed, a book case, night stands, rearranging the closet, and the bookshelf  _again_ , not to mention all the little things that went on the stands, or all the not so little books on the shelf in a not so fun way, Santana found her energy draining.

The left side of the couch hit the carpet. Quinn used her hip to line the right side up properly while Santana stood off to the side watching her. "How about here?" Quinn questioned.

Santana thought about it, collapsing on to the seat, testing it. "No."

"Why no?"

"I can't see the TV."

"Santana, if you don't get your ass up right now-"

Santana grinned at her wife. "What're you going to do to me?"

Quinn let out a shriek, which let her know that she wasn't being received as cute and charming, but that she was seriously pushing Quinn's buttons. So she stood up, hands extended in a gesture of peace. "Okay, okay," she said, trying to ease the she-hulk look in her wife's eyes. "Calm down, blondie."

"Don't tell me to calm down," Quinn hissed. "I have spent all morning trying to rearrange my apartment-,"

"Ah hah!" Santana said triumphantly. "See, I told you: you still think of this place as your apartment!"

"So it doesn't  _just_ feel like it's my place anymore, and the least you can do is actually give me some constructive input on where the furniture should go!"

"How is telling you that I can't see the TV not constructive?"

"Because we can move the fucking TV!"

"Language, Quinnie!"

"San, I am seriously this close to-," she took long, even breaths. This used to help her in dealing with this woman who was her once enemy and she had now pledged to spend the rest of her life with; there was once a time in her life when Quinn used to think that she was smart.

Santana, realizing that she was seriously frustrating Quinn, pulled her into her arms, kissing her neck. "I'm sorry, babe," she quickly apologized. "You have been so good about this." And she had. She really had. She had even packed up some of her things to make more room for Santana.

Although they had been sharing apartments since they said 'I do', really since Santana proposed, and they had kind of carved their niches out in the spaces that the other had left open, Quinn didn't want Santana to feel like she had to carve out space. Now that Santana no longer had her apartment, Quinn was striving to make it so that Santana didn't feel like she was now living in  _Quinn's_ place. "Honestly, though, I didn't see anything wrong with the way things were arranged before."

"I chose the arrangement before," was the answer she got. "Look, I know you didn't want to move in here with me, but we're stuck here for a few months and I just wanted to make this place feel more like," she shrugged, clearly frustrated. "Home."

Santana gave her a more reassuring squeeze. "First off, get the idea out of your head that I didn't want to move in with you. And second it does feel like home," she assured her. "It felt like home the first time I stepped foot into this apartment, and you know why?" Quinn shook her head, waiting for whatever snarky or condescending thing Santana had to say. "You're my home, Quinn. So no matter if I'm moving into your apartment, or we're living in a box on the side of the road, it will feel like home to me, because that's where I am when I'm with you."

After a minute, Quinn pushed her away.

"God, you've gotten so corny."

Santana smirked. "You know you love it, babe." Santana sat back down on the couch, testing it out. "Fair warning: this couch has got to go once we get our place."

Quinn sat down beside her. Santana automatically adjusted to hold her. "What's wrong with this couch? I love this couch."

"I know you love this couch, Q, you would."

"What's that mean?"

"This looks like June Cleaver's couch."

"It does not look like June Cleaver's couch! This is a nice, sophisticated, adult couch, unlike that monstrosity that you had taking up your space."

"Garbo was not a monstrosity, Garbo is a relic, and we  _will_ be finding space for him in our new place."

"You  _named_ the couch Garbo? Not really making a case for how that couch wasn't garbage. And what do you mean we will be finding space for it? That  _thing_ was marched down to the curve."

"That  _thing_?" Santana demanded. "I've had that couch since college!"

Quinn rolled her eyes. "When you saved it from the dump? You graduated, shouldn't your furniture?"

"Oh, god, you sound like one of those stupid hipster commercials. You're so corporate America, babe. Just keep feeding into their lies. And like I would really just throw out Garbo. He's seen me through a lot. He's in storage just waiting to be sprung."

"That couch was a death trap!"

"That couch is probably the most comfortable piece of furniture on this planet, not like this couch."

"It's not coming into our new place."

"If you get to keep your  _Leave it to Beaver_ couch, I get to keep Garbo."

Quinn and Santana stared each other down. "Looks like we'll be buying some new furniture," Quinn eventually said. Santana smirked. "Speaking of getting new furniture for this hypothetical house of ours, I know we're not looking for it yet, per se, but what are we looking for?"

Santana picked up the remote at the same time that she contemplated the question. "Like in general, or do I need to get your notepad out so you can start making your lists?"

"Who said anything about lists?" Santana gave her a knowing look. Quinn rolled her eyes. "It's in the drawer."

Santana laughed, giving her wife a kiss before she jumped up to go retrieve said notebook. She handed it to Quinn with a low bow before resettling on the couch. She watched Quinn write out the words 'wish list', and underlined it. "So we're definitely looking for a house?"

 "Yes, and I'm okay with living a little outside of the city."

"But no major commutes."

"No," Santana easily agreed. "30 minutes at most."

"I think that should be a firm limit," Quinn agreed. Although they could get more house further outside of the city, she really didn't want to have to spend more than an hour in her car a day. Also, the idea of living in the suburbs, and living a suburban lifestyle was just as unappealing. She wrote down 30 minutes. She started to write down 'hardwoods' but paused. "Okay, so I know you said that you wanted hardwoods," Quinn stopped to blush because of her wife's reason to have them, "but is that something you want all the way throughout the house?"

Santana fluttered her eyebrows. "I don't know. Do we plan on fucking in every room in the house?" she questioned in an open-ended way. Quinn bit down on her lip, shifting on the seat. "And when I say hardwoods, I don't mean like that crappy high gloss stuff you see on every single home improvement show on television. I want a nice dark wood that looks like something you'd find in an 18th century lighthouse. But not in any of the bedrooms. I hate hardwood in bedrooms."

Quinn tried to understand Santana's logic. "Wait. You want hardwood floors so we don't have to worry about spillage, but you don't want them in the bedrooms? Isn't that backwards logic?"

"Food spillage. I have never once seen you eat anything in bed…other than me; I think we can do without the hardwoods in the bedroom, besides it gets too cold here in the winter to not have carpet in some form. Do you have a problem with hardwoods?"

Quinn shrugged. "I like hardwood fine, just not when they get all scuffed up." She gave it some more thought. "But I also don't like how carpet starts to look dingy after a while either."

"That's only if you don't take care of them."

"I suppose as long as  _you_  clean it regularly, it should be okay."

"Me?"

"Yeah, you did such a fine job when you took care of both of our places and, let's be honest: your cooking kind of sucks. So I figure you can clean and take care of the outside chores, I'll cook and be on maintenance and repair detail."

"It sounds like you've been thinking about this," Santana accused. "Who's staying home with the kids then?"

Santana watched as Quinn paused, then actually thought about it. Santana knew that her mind was going to her upbringing, of the 'Fabray Woman' model of what a wife and mother should be. The kind of woman who dressed up for dinner, and always had a spatula in one hand and a cognac in the other. "You," Quinn answered, blinking herself back to the present.

Santana merely shrugged in return. "And my cooking doesn't suck."

"No, you're right, that would be an improvement."

Santana folded her arms over her chest, pouting. "Fine. No more Saturday breakfasts for you."

Quinn met her at her own game. "But you promised!"

"That was before you insulted my cooking."

"I told you, I like your breakfasts fine, but you only seem to know like three and a half non-vegetarian dinner dishes, and a girl needs a little variety. And meat." Santana folded her arms over her chest. "Ah, San, don't pout," Quinn pleaded, sticking out her own lip. "You don't even  _like_ to cook."

"I like cooking for you," she huffed.

Quinn kissed her pout. "I like you cooking for me, too. But we both know that you buy deli food and try to pass it off as your own cooking on your nights to cook." Inwardly, Santana agreed, but she wasn't about to give in so easily. "I don't think that cooking and repair work is an even trade for me doing all of the cleaning  _and_  the outside chores  _plus_  taking care of your babies."

"Fine, I'll do the laundry, too."

"And we split the dishes."

Quinn attempted a compromise. "How about we do them together?"

Santana had to think about it because it still seemed like she was getting the lion's share. "Only if you're naked while you're doing them."

"There's no way that could possibly be sanitary. That defeats the whole purpose of even washing them."

"Gah, you're no fun."

"You're the one who stopped putting out for me," Quinn quipped. "That should be grounds for divorce right there."

"I'm beginning to think that you only married me because of my goods."

"Goods? Even your mouth has gotten PG rated! Where has my woman gone?"

"Oh, very funny, Fablo. Consider it payback for all the times that you held out on me in high school."

"I thought I was Flopez."

"You were formerly a Fabray, so your now Fab with a little Lo. I was formerly a Lopez, and will be once you just take my name, so I'm a little F and a lot of Lopez."

"Why don't we ever talk about  _you_  taking my name?"

Santana shook her head. "We've had this discussion before and we both know how it ends. Lucy Quinn Lopez: hotness, Santana Quintanilla Fabray? Hot mess. Besides, I'm my parents only child. Russell had two little Fabrays. "

"That were both girls. Frannie's last name is now Hanover."

"Not my fault that your sister wasn't more modern."

"There are like a million Lopezes! How many Fabrays do you know? Besides, Fabray comes first in the alphabet so that automatically makes it better."

"I can't even with you sometimes, Fablo. You just don't make sense."

"Okay,  _babe_ ," Quinn mocked. "And me not putting out in high school: your fault."

"How so?"

"If you had pulled your head out of your ass and looked over in my direction, you," she pointed from Santana to herself, "could have been all up and in this. There was that one time, my folks were out of town for the weekend, and I'd just gotten a new swimsuit, and what did you tell me when I said you should come over? That you didn't want to spend the night looking at my chicken legs peeking out of the world's most prude swimsuit."

"You were seriously propositioning me?"

"And that, sweetheart, is why I'm the brains of this operation."

Santana sat back in thought, and Quinn just sat enjoying the moment. Santana idly played with Quinn's fingers. "Could you imagine what we would have been like in high school if we'd actually dated each other?" she said thoughtfully. "Picking songs to sing to each other in Glee…making out in the hallway…you carrying my books."

"Um…no. San, you'd be carrying my books, and walking me to all of my classes."

"Writing me little love notes," Santana went on, ignoring Quinn. "' _All my love, sweetie. Can't wait to ravish you after Cheerios practice'_. Smacking down Finn in the middle of the hallway when he called me out senior year." Santana pantomimed Quinn breaking out the fighting moves on Finn's head.

"That would be me, huh?" Quinn said with a quirked eyebrow.

"Definitely," Santana replied confidently.

Quinn put a finger to her temple. "Yet, you were the one who carried me over the threshold.  _And_ claim the title of the baddest bitch at McKinley."

"I was definitely that,  _and_ the hottest piece of ass the world ever did see. Which is why you'd be carrying my books."

"You would have totally been sprung, San," Quinn insisted.

Santana licked Quinn's neck, which caused the woman to squeal. Quinn smacked her. "What is wrong with you?"

Laughing, Santana just shrugged. "God, I don't think that McKinley would still be standing if we'd gotten together back then. But just so's you know, I loved watching your chicken legs."

"Fuck you, San, I don't have chicken legs!"

Santana pulled up the bottom of Quinn's pants, showing off her legs. She traced her calves with her hand, giving an extra squeeze. "I think we should have a dungeon room. You know like a fun room in the basement or something. Ooh, we could be swingers. That could be our thing! You know, once we start again."

"Swingers? You want to have sex with other women and possibly men?"

"No, but I could like flirt and try to pick up pretty girls, and then right when we're like making out or something, you could come in all jealous and possessive she-hulk Quinn, and be like, 'That's my woman, bitch' and then you can spend all night reclaiming your territory, and I can be all like 'Quinn, you're so fucking hot when you're possessive, fuck me'."

Quinn's head tilted to the side and she just watched her wife's face go through the gamut of facial expressions. Santana paused in her actions. "Why're you looking at me like that, Q, it's creepy?"

"You're just so ridiculous. We're not going to have a dungeon room."

"Aw, babe, you don't want to go all Fifty Shades of Gay with me? You'd be really sexy as my bitch."

Quinn's fingers worked their way into Santana's hair, tugging a handful of hair firmly. "Under no circumstances would I be your bitch."

Santana rolled her eyes. "What evs. But you are mine."

Quinn nodded. "I am."

"Add four bedrooms to the list."

"Four?"

"At least. Like if we could find a seven bedroom for the price of a four, you won't find me complaining. Then we could like constantly have visitors coming, and if they stayed too long, we could put on  _Let's Get it On,_ on repeat, and we could go at it for hours straight until they got the hint. And we should have a dedicated room for TT and Squishy because we both  _know_ that Mercedes, at least, is going to come to us on their anniversaries and beg us to watch the kid for them."

"TT?"

"It's my new name for the Trouty Tot."

"We're going to need a room for our books."

"I like that. And I want a Victorian." She gave a look at Quinn. "I would really like to have a Victorian, but that is negotiable. With a garden of course."

"Oh, of course. I wouldn't mind a fixer-upper."

"Who's going to do the fixing up?" Santana question, curiously.

"I will."

"You, Q? No offense, babe, but you don't strike me as the fixer-up type. Although…you in a tool belt, with a wrench and hammer, hot!"

"So, while we're on this topic, how much house can we afford?"

Quinn started to pull her laptop to her, but Santana was already calculating in her head. After thinking about it for a few minutes she wrote down three numbers on Quinn's notepad. "You're going to explain that, right?"

"Taking in both of our incomes, the top number is what I think we could get by paying monthly for our mortgage, the second number is a 20% down payment, and the third is a price range for our house."

Quinn looked the number over, then squinted at it, as if that would change it. "We have that for a down payment?"

Santana gave a slow nod. "More, if you got money stashed away in a secret account," she teased. She was just teasing. Quinn had only been out in the working world for 3 years, after a slightly better than crummy internship, and an Ivy League graduate degree that was paid for mostly through a partial scholarship, good faith and credit cards. She was just getting to a place where she could start saving. Still, she was surprised at the number that Santana put down.

"We have that right now?"

"More or less. That's what I anticipate having by February."

Quinn did some quick math. "Why is the monthly payment so high if the amount of house we can afford is, comparatively, low?"

"Because the monthly is what we'll need to pay to pay off a house in six years."

"There's no such thing as a six-year mortgage."

"No," Santana agreed, "but there're fifteen year mortgages and I figure we can pay twice plus each month."

"Six years?"

"I don't want a house payment," Santana explained. "Everyone kind of pretends that a mortgage isn't debt, but it is, and you know if something happens to one of us, we shouldn't have to worry about losing something that we put our heart and souls into because of it, you know? I mean, sure it's not going to get us a mega mansion, but I'd rather the peace of mind."

Quinn got a particular look on her face. "When can we start looking?"

"After Christmas?"

"That'll only give us a month to find something that we like!" Quinn protested. "And really that's only eight days if you think about it."

Santana laughed. "We can't have more than a month if we start in January?"

"No!" Quinn said firmly. "You owe me this, by my birthday, or we're moving into a trailer and you'll just have to live with it."

Santana chuckled because horny Quinn was kind of fun.

"After Thanksgiving, then."

Quinn's expression changed at that word. "About Thanksgiving…" she hedged.

"What  _about_  Thanksgiving?" she questioned, uncomfortably.

She shifted uncomfortably. "Okay…just promise to keep an open mind, sweetie, okay?" Santana's face momentarily shifted at the endearment, but she was not to be so easily swayed. "I know it's like our first Thanksgiving now that we're married." And the first Thanksgiving that they've spent together since the first one after they graduated high school. "First Thanksgiving is kind of a Fabray tradition. When a Fabray gets married, for her first Thanksgiving the new bride is supposed to host the family dinner."

"Well, it's a good thing you married a woman. You're all kinds of exiled, right?" Santana's face was so hopeful that Quinn almost hated to break the news to her. "Right?"

"Not…exactly."

"What do you mean by  _not exactly?_ "

"I thought like you did, too, but Grandmother Fabray called me a little while ago,"

"You have a grandmother?"

"-reminding me of my 'duty', and I can't back out of this."

"No."

"It's a tradition, Santana."

"No,"

"It goes back for more than sixty years."

"No," she said more firmly this time.

"I'll cook you whatever you want," Quinn bartered. Santana considered that for all of a second, but her favorite dish was simply not worth being around…how many Fabrays was she talking about here? It was just mom, dad, and Frannie's family at the wedding. Did Quinn have other family? Santana wondered if they were all blonde, Stepford wives. "Naked."

"It's just going to be Russell, Judy, Frannie, and co. right?"

Quinn gave an eager, placating nod. "Yes. Just mom, dad, Frannie and her family."

"That's it?"

"Well, and Grandmother and Grandfather Fabray."

Santana breathed out. "That's it?"

"And Uncle Chester, and Great Uncle Scott, and my Great Aunt Lucy." Santana looked like she swallowed something unpleasant. "And their families," Quinn added underneath her breath. "But that's all."

"'Oh, but that's all?' That's half the goddamn planet, Luce! What the hell is wrong with your family? We're gay! You married the 'dyke of Lima Ohio!' Don't you remember the scandal back in high school? Aren't your family like the poster children for conservative America?"

"They are, but a tradition is a tradition, and daddy has been going around talking us up to all of the relatives, so really, this is your fault! If you had just let me go on hating him like  _I_ wanted, it wouldn't even be an issue."

"Did he mention that I'm Mexican too?" she questioned hopefully. "Do they know  _that_?"

"Santana!"

"No, Quinn! All signs pointed to your family exiling us. I  _can't_ be in a room full of Fabray's!"

Quinn started to pout. "Remember when you said that your family was my family now? They're you're family, too. And you don't want to disappoint your family, do you? Do you want them to think that you don't love me? That our marriage isn't real?"

"No…" Something slowly dawned on the very unhappy young woman. "Wait…who are they expecting to be 'the wife'?"

Quinn placed a tender hand on her wife's face, cupping her cheek, and softly stroking it with her thumb. She leaned in to kiss her. Santana pulled away. "Oh hells no. Unh unh…no, no way!"

"Sanny!"

"I can't serve a room full of Fabrays, Quinn!" Santana shrieked. "What do you expect me to do? Dress up in one of your garden dresses with a cardigan, my hair in a bun, and a plastered smile on my face as I sit a pumpkin soufflé on the table, and regale the expectant crowd with tales of how domesticity is the best thing  _ever?"_ From the look on Quinn's face, that appeared to be exactly what Quinn was expecting Santana to do. "Do you not understand that that's like my worst nightmare…compounded!"

"It's just once."

"Do you know how much therapy I'm going to need? You are asking your gay, part Mexican, part Puerto Rican, possibly Dominican, part black wife to actually serve the whitest family in America!"

"No, I'm asking you to be accommodating to my family, and be the charming, and loving woman I know you to be."

"Quinn…do you realize how much therapy I'm going to need after this? You vowed to love me…if you loved me, you wouldn't ask me to do this for you."

Ha, two could play that game. Quinn's eyes got really big, and round, and large drops formed in her eyes and started to fall. "Oh, please, Fablo. I know what real crying looks like! Cut that out!"

"I didn't think that my family would even except us, but they have, and you said how important you think family is, and I just thought," she sniffed.

Santana shook her head. "I'm not buying it, Quinn!"

Quinn's bottom lip trembled and her breath hitched. Tears fell in rivers. "I just love you so much, San, and I want them to get the chance to love you, too."

Santana gathered Quinn up in her arms, hugging her tightly as she realized that maybe Quinn wasn't faking after all. "Oh, baby, don't cry."

Quinn continued to sob. Santana pulled her closer to her, stroking her back. "Alright, fine, baby. We can spend Thanksgiving with your family."

"I don't want to if you don't want to, S. I don't want to make you."

"You're not. Come on, you know I was going to say yes eventually, anyway…I was just giving you a hard time. I'm sorry. I want to spend Thanksgiving with them."

Quinn sniffled, pulling back to look at Santana's face. "You do."

Santana nodded.

Just as suddenly as it started, the waterworks, the sobbing, the trembling all disappeared, and a smug, satisfied look rested on Quinn's face. "See, now why couldn't we have just done that from the beginning?"

"You evil, diabolical, manipulative bitch Quinn Fabray-Lopez! I can't believe you! You…you cheater!"

"All is fair in love and war."

"I'm not doing it."

"You have to! You said you would. No half-sies, no take backs," Quinn taunted.

"I can't believe I fell for that!"

"Did you forget I was a drama major freshman year?"

"You're gonna owe me big time for this, Q!"

Quinn could concede that. I mean, if she had nightmares of a roomful of Fabrays and she had grown up as one of them… "I promise, I'll help you with as many of the dishes as possible, and for doing this for me, you can have anything you want as your reward."

"Anything?" Santana clarified. "Like you'll dress-up like the naughty Orphan Annie, and let me DP you with you bent over the back rail of our porch?"

Quinn pressed her lips to Santana's ear. "I'll let you tie me up spread eagle to the table, and have me for desert."

Santana shook her head to get the image out of her mind, but for another reason, too. As delicious as that sounded…"No," she said to Quinn's surprise. "As much fun as that would be, Q, I'm not going to do this because of a reward." She got a serious look on her face. "I don't want you to do something for me out of guilt, and I don't want to do things for you because you weasel me into them. Lies, manipulation, and bribes is not how I want things to be between us. That's how we were in high school, and you remember how well that worked for us back then. I will do this for you because you're my wife, and I love you, and you asked me to, not because I expect anything in return.

"Q, I know that you don't expect good things to stay good for very long; I know it's hard for you to believe in them, which is why I'm being so serious about this. I love you, just you. As much as I love watching you walk out of the house in your power suits, I'd love you without the job. If something happens to your back, and you end up back in your wheel chair, or god forbid there is another accident down the road, and you get scarred up and dismembered, I will still love you; I will still want to be with you. I will complain, just like I plan on doing some serious griping to you about this Thanksgiving thing, but I will still be there for you.

"I like that you are beautiful, and that you have a smoking hot bod, and you're aggressive, and smart, but I love you, all parts of you, all of you, and even though we were both joking around, I need you to know and understand that this isn't puppy love. I don't want you to ever doubt that. I made you my wife because that title, and this relationship, it means more than I could possibly express with any other word. That being said, I think we should add back porch to the list because now that that thought's in my head, I can't unwant it. Also, I knew you were faking…I mean come on Fablo. You're not that good of an actress."

Quinn gasped. "I so am! I had the lead in the freshman showcase!"

Santana patted her hand in a way that couldn't be considered as anything other than patronizing. "Alright, baby. And I'm not wearing a dress."

Quinn got a no non-sense look on her face. "You will be wearing a dress, and not one that makes the nuns cry, either."

"What nuns do you know? Nuns don't cry; they slap the devil out of you with their rulers."

"I bet you know a lot about that."

"At least I was always honest, Quinnie. Do you know why I stopped inviting you to confessional with me? I was so convinced you would bring the church down because you would lie that it became self-preservation."

"Really?  _You_ were worried about  _me?_ "

"I may be a bad sinner, Q, but I'm honest as hell. You wanted to save face with the priest; I took my penance like a champ. I loved confessing."

Quinn laughed, digging her fingers into her wife's side until she started giggling. "I bet you did, you narcissistic piece of work."

"When God makes you as close to perfect as possible, it would be a sin to not want to spread your appreciation for his work all over! Oooh, that can be our thing!"

Quinn gave a confused tilt of her head. "What, church?"

"Yeah. We can start the cult of Santana Lopez, where we can put this divineness on display, and I can be worshipped as the divine deity that I am."

"Next time you see this bud man, I want to talk to him, because I want whatever it is that you're smoking."

"Ooh, that's it! That's our thing! We can open a dispensary!" Santana reached for Quinn's notepad. "You finish making this place ours, I'm going to get started on this." Quinn watched Santana very carefully draw a marijuana leaf on the notepad, and shook her head. She curled up against her wife, and Santana adjusted so that she could hold her, a smile forming on her lips as she continued to do what she'd been doing.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, if you decide to watch Los Hombres de Paco because of this story, I highly recommend that when you get to episodes 103 and 104 that you watch those episodes on YouTube and you only watch 'Pepa y Silvia happy ending'. I cannot stress to you how important it is that you do so. I cannot be held responsible for your emotions if you watch those episodes in any other medium.


	3. Carotene and chorizo

                Santana was in her head as she headed to her locker to take her gun out of its case. Her movements were slow, practiced, her mind on other things as she put the Walther back together. It was only Tuesday, but this was already her second time this week that she was spending her lunch at the shooting range. Without meaning to, she had almost fallen back to her training schedule from back when she was going through training. Intense workouts twice a day, shooting practice, combat training, sifting through databases, going over schematics, searching the dark web, brushing up on her foreign languages. (A huge benefit of living in a city like Boston was that there was no shortage of conversationalist partners for Santana to practice with in several different languages.) By the time February rolled around, Santana was going to have one well defined body for Quinn to ravage. That and she’d probably be running her division of both the GSA and Little, Brown.

                “It’s Ms. Bond!”

                Santana gave the side eye to the guy who was standing on her left. _Oh for the love of all that’s holy!_

Without any encouragement the man went on.  “So, if you’re a bond girl, and a lesbian does that make you _Pussy Galore_?”

                Santana checked the magazine to make sure it was empty before loading it. She sighted the target in the distance. “Hal, do you know why lesbians make such great snipers?”

                Beside her Hal looked slightly confused. “No, why?”

                “Because it’s a scientific fact that lesbians have been known to naturally produce and absorb more carotene so on average they have better eye sight than their male counterparts.”

                “I don’t get it…what’s carotene?”

                Santana fired off a round, hitting her target dead center. She subtly slid the safety back into place. “That means when we shoot, we don’t miss. Remember that the next time you want to talk to me about pussy when I have a loaded gun in my hand.”

                Unsurprisingly, Hal decided to find another stall. On her right, she heard a chuckle and a guy questioned, “Is that true?”

                “What lesbians and carotene?” The guy gave a nod. “No, of course not.”  She gave a cocky sway to her hips. “But me? I don’t miss.” She followed those words up with a demonstration.

                “Nice shooting,” he complimented. Santana gave an abrupt nod. “I’m Chandler.”

                While the high school Santana may have told him to fuck off on general principal, or said something like ‘still gay’, she instead extended a hand to him. “Santana.”

                “Ever go hunting?”

                “No, and I’ve never wanted to either. I don’t shoot for sport.”

                “Me either,” he said quickly. “Anything I take down, I eat. I want to invite you to come hunting with me and my wife-”

                Santana cut him off. “Oh, sorry, Skip, I’m not into that.”

                He laughed, knowing exactly where her mind had gone to. He had an easy smile. “Come on: I just watched you mentally castrate a guy who made a tasteless joke. Do you really think that I’d proposition you for a threesome? I was thinking deer hunting.”

                Santana gave him the elevator eye. What was with people who liked to shoot things for fun? And not things…but living things. He could see her judgment.

                “You eat cows, don’t you? I guarantee a bullet to the head to a free ranging deer is a lot more humane then what they put your burger through. And cleaner, too. Thanksgiving’s coming up? Who doesn’t want fresh venison?”

                Santana could just imagine the look on the face of the Fabrays if she sat a buck on the dinner table in front of the whole clan. Extra points if she was wearing a dress when she did it, too. Let’s see them think of her as the ‘little wife’ after that!

                “I’m not a hunter.”

                Chandler whipped out a business card faster than Santana could blink. “Think about it, and get back to me. Loved to have someone with as keen an eye as you out there with me.”

                Santana pocketed the card, before changing out her target sheet, and sending a fresh one down the chute.

                Santana got so caught up with shooting that she ended up being a few minutes late getting back to work. It was just her luck that Paulianne was waiting for her at her station. She sighed in anticipation of getting chewed out.

                “How was your lunch, Lopez?”

                “Fabray-Lopez-” Santana said automatically, even if she was about to get chewed out for coming back late. Why this woman couldn’t be like a normal upper manager who spent all day in her office emailing, Santana couldn’t figure out. “It was good. Sorry about the time.”

                Paulianne didn’t respond, her gaze having been captured by the pictures on Santana’s work station at her correction. Like Quinn, she had expanded her photos to include a picture of Phil on her desk. This particular one was of her and him reading to each other. Phil was curled into her lap, with a book spread out in his. He had been reading _Gus & Me, _and Santana was reading _De Colores_ , though you couldn’t see her book in the picture _._ Paulianne nodded appreciatively at the photo.

                “Is that your son, Santana?” Paulianne questioned with a note of surprise. Santana gave a nod.  “He’s adorable; he looks like you! What’s his name?”

                _No clue_ , Santana thought wryly. “Philip.”

                She tensed, preparing herself for personal questions, but the ones Paulianne asked weren’t the ones she was expecting. “Did he like _Gus & Me_?”

                She nodded, giving a small smile. “He wanted me to buy him a guitar after we read it.” Oddly, even though the book was about a boy and his grandfather, it hadn’t caused Phil to ask questions about either her or Hazel’s parents. Phil had always seemed to accept that he lived in a sort of vacuum.

                “Did you get him one?”

                “Get him…,” she remembered the statement that had prompted the questions. “No. We told him he’d have to wait a few years.”

                “Did he have much trouble reading it?”

                Santana shook her head. “He had trouble with a few words, but no big problems.”

                “How old is he?”

                “He’s five. He was four in the picture, but he’s been reading since he was three and a half.”

                “Smart kid.”

                “He’s really smart,” she agreed.  “What’s the point of having a mother who works in publishing if you can’t even read?”

                Paulianne laughed at her joke. Santana hadn’t set out to actually teach him to read so young; she was always bringing over books and one day seeing Phil with one of the books in his lap, reciting it from memory, prompted her to try to teach him so that he would still have something of her when she wasn’t around.

                “Indeed. Do you read him imprints?”

                Santana wondered if this was the real purpose of the conversation, but she couldn’t see how she could get in trouble for that considering that she read unreleased books to the kids at the Children’s Hospital as well. Free market research.

                “I do.”

                “What’d he think about Dupree’s book?”

                “He loved it! He loves tigers, so a book about a little boy who got to live with them? Loved it.”

                “How lucky for you that you’ve got a product tester in-home! Unfortunately my kids have aged out of the demo. They really grow up so fast…” Paulianne seemed to contemplate that for a span of a second. “So! we’ve gotten back third quarter receipts for _The Tiger Prince,_ and our fourth quarter projections are already looking to be above what we expected.”        

                Although Santana could access that information if she ever honestly cared enough to, it was rare for that kind of information to be shared with her. Her department did the layouts and minor marketing; they had nothing to do with the money side of the business. In fact, a lot of what Santana had done for _The Tiger Prince_ had been outside of what she normally did. 

                “That’s good.” Santana was sure to keep her voice neutral enough to not fall into the suck up territory, yet remain interested enough to not seem apathetic.

                 “How would you like to run lead on the next project?”

                The words took Santana completely off guard. “Really?”

                “Really. I know you gave great sacrifice to see that we had a successful launch. Your dedication to your work is commendable. You managed to impress a few people with your work on the Dupree project, and your past works, so we’d like to see what you can do with a little bit more freedom. Staff meeting is on Monday. Do you think that you’ll be able to put together a presentation by then?”

                It wasn’t really a question you could answer ‘no’ to, no matter how much work just landed on Santana’s desk.  “I can.”

                “Good.”

                Paulianne stalked off, and for once to Santana it didn’t seem like she was carrying an inner grudge for her when she did so. She took a moment to bask in the fact that she was the project head on her first ever book launch, before she started to get to work on her upcoming presentation.

                Santana left work at 3:00. It was an hour earlier than she normally did on Tuesdays, but she’d finished up early at the gym this morning so she’d gone in earlier than normal, and she knew she’d be working later hours the rest of this week so she figured she might as well take the time now. This morning she had every intention of coming home from work and practicing one or two of the Fabray family recipes when she got home, but that all went out the door in favor of alcohol and video games. All during the car ride home, she had fantasies of her grabbing an ice cold beer, stripping out of her work clothes, and lounging in front of her game system being stupid and mindless with Puck. Besides…it had been so long since she’d donned her rain warrior outfit…

                She had to dig through the closet to find her beloved outfit, and finding the sword took even longer. Most of her gaming software she had left packed up, deciding that she could do without it for a couple of months, along with most of her other stuff.  Her apartment had hardly been big enough to fit in all her stuff, and now that she was combining with Quinn, there was even less space. So Santana had been doing without a lot; marriage was about sacrifice, she reminded herself every time she had to get something out of storage.

                Before logging in, Santana stopped by the kitchen, already tasting the salt, grease, and cheese combination of her favorite snack food, coupled with the yeastiness coolness of her alcohol. Instead of a nice red box of Sunshine Cheez-It snack crackers sitting front and prominent on the eye level shelf, there was an orange and white box of Trader Joe’s Cheddar Cheese Squares. To make matters worse, when she opened the fridge, instead of finding her trusty after work beer there (or even a decent trade beer), there was a six pack of some golden apple crap. “Like, what the hell…?” Santana demanded. The only thing stopping her from firing off a text to Quinn to let her know her displeasure about her switching Santana’s beer without permission was that it would let Quinn know that she’d gotten off work an hour earlier than usual. And was drinking beer at 3:30 in the afternoon.

                “Oh, but we will have words once you bring your sexy ass home, Quinn Fabray-Lopez,” Santana promised the air. A woman’s beer was sacred, and as many times as Santana went on about how the only thing that was a Cheez-It was a Cheez-It Quinn not getting the right snack had to be on purpose.  

                “Quinn knows I don’t drink this shit,” she mumbled, grabbing two bottles of the hard cider. She rolled her eyes just at the thought.

                Puck was already waiting for her when she signed in. “Flopez! I thought I lost you!”

                “Not quite yet. I hope you’ve told Quinn enough times that you love her, though.”

                 “Why’s that?”

                “Cause I’m going to kill her when she gets home.”

                Puck chuckled. “Ha. It was only a matter of time. But what’d she do?”

                “She replaced my Sam Adams with some damn Strongbow. Have you even heard of that shit before? And she refuses flat out refuses to buy my Cheez-Its! She went shopping, and instead of not buying the Trader Joe’s brand, and just telling me so I can just pick up a box , she bought the TJ version _knowing_ that I hate the crap! It’s cause I didn’t go grocery shopping with her. She does this whenever she goes shopping alone, which is completely bullshit because I _always_  get everything on her freaking list when I go by myself. And I mean everything. Including her damn organic gourmet paprika and Cayenne pepper.”

                She was aware that Puck was laughing at her.

                “Welcome to marriage, bro.”

                Santana rolled her eyes. “In case you forgot, _bro_ , I’ve been married longer than you.”

                “By like two weeks! Me and Shells have been living together longer than you have, so I got this head start on the whole cohabitation thing, which reminds me…how’s that working out for you?”

                “Q and I were living together since we’ve been married. Really, since I popped the question.”

                “Yeah, but you both had your own places, and now you don’t.”

                “It’s nice coming home to the same place every day, but I miss half of my stuff. We’re going to start looking at houses just as soon as Thanksgiving is over, though, so it’s only for a little while. Actually, our real estate agent wants us to look at a house the Monday before Thanksgiving, and then we’ll see from there. We made a list,” she added as an afterthought.

                “Going to check it twice?” he teased. “You’re a good one, Flopez, cause I don’t envy you having to go house hunting with Quinn! Lucky for me, Shells is as low maintenance as they come. Sort of.”

                “Ah, Quinn’s not so bad. So, are we doing this or what? I’m in a kick butt mood.”

                Puck gave a grunt of assent, and they started the game. The level that they were on was like a perfect level. Since the censor was on, it was the kind of level that required a lot of physical activity: running, jumping, ducking plus plenty of sword action. The sword was probably the best purchase Santana had ever made, because it made a cool whishing sound on the game when she beheaded certain creatures, and it lit up, and seriously just looked awesome.  She looked fierce, too, because she was dressed from head to toe, war paint make up included. The only unfortunate thing was that whenever she put on her costume (or thought about it) she got turned on, which made all of the physicality of the whole thing a little uncomfortable.  

                She and Puck were making good headway on their quest when she was thrown off by a loud, unfamiliar knock. All of the people who mattered each had their own distinctive knocking style. Santana gave a confused look at the door. Was Quinn expecting a package or something? But no, those were supposed to be left downstairs at the desk during the day time. “Timeout, Puck, someone’s on the door.”

                “Dope. I’m goinna grab a beer.”

                “No, you’re like supposed to stay and listen to make sure that I’m not being killed, or something.”

                He snorted. “Dude, I feel bad for anyone stupid enough to try and kill you. Getting a beer. Don’t die or anything.”

                “You suck as a friend, just want you to know,” Santana muttered, hoping that it really was just like a package or something, because if it wasn’t she was screwed.  She checked the peep hole before she opened the door, but she wasn’t certain she was seeing who she thought she was seeing until she opened the door and was greeted by blonde hair and big lips.  

                “Oh hell no,” Santana said, slamming the door in the face of her guest.

                “Santana?” was heard muffled through the door.

                Santana sighed, opening it up again, but only because Quinn was certain to say something to her if she didn’t. She wasn’t about to be hospitable, though. “No, guppy lips. We made a deal when I let you marry my girl that you don’t get to hang out here unless Mercedes is with you.”

                Sam held up the cardboard pizza he carried along with a DVD as if they were peace offerings. Curiously, she read the title: _Shaun of the Dead_.

                 Sam seized on her moment of hesitation. His eyes took in her appearance. “Hey cool, Santana, I didn’t know you played _Knights of Adventure!”_ Sam looked over her costume, blushing, and it was then that she remembered that she had donned her rain warrior outfit. The one that had an exposed chest that was hardly covered by her bra with a belt that went diagonally across her upper abdomen. Santana quickly went to collect her discarded shirt and pulled it angrily down over her torso.

                “What are you doing here?” Santana demanded. “Did something happen to Mercedes?!”

                Sam stepped into their apartment. “Um…no. Why would you ask if something happened to Mercy?”

                “Because you are standing here in my apartment.”

                Sam looked over said apartment, taking it in. Santana tried to remember if he had ever been inside before.  

                “Oh, yeah, I just came over to see if we could hang.”

                She stared at him without blinking for a full minute. “If we could _what_?”

                “Hang. Puck said that you two gamed together all the time, and since I game I figured…”

                She cut him off. “You figured wrong, Lips.”

                 Ignoring Santana’s outrage, Sam took a seat on the love seat. Santana balked at the sight of this. “W-what’re you doing? The door is that way.” She pointed, as if she expected that to change anything. She swore that if he actually touched her game she would kill him; even if it would make her wife really, really mad at her, and leave the TroutyTot without a daddy.

                He appeared to be getting comfortable. Santana could tell that he wanted to grab a slice of pizza, but wouldn’t before Santana relented. “One game and I’ll leave.”

                It was a battle for her to tamp down on her emotions. “Puck and I are playing. We’re in the middle of a mission!”

                “So, I’ll watch.”

                “Or…you’ll get out!” 

                “That’s kind of harsh, bro” he declared.

                “I’m not a bro.”

                “Well, duh, Santana. Obviously. I just meant that in solidarity, you know. You’ve got a wife, I’ve got a wife. We’re hanging out.”

                “No, we are not hanging out,” she said fiercely. “There are many things that I have done and will do since I got married, but this is not in the contract.”

                “But I brought you pizza.” He pointed, in case she forget. Santana glowered, and then glowered some more when Sam didn’t seem fazed by the scathing look that she was giving him. When did her scowl break?

                And damn it if the pizza didn’t smell like heaven. “And that means what?”

                “You still alive over there, Flopez? I’m back.”

                “Yeah, no thanks to you!”

                “Who’s at the door?”

                “Sam Evans,” she answered, saying his full name.

                “Hey, tell him ‘congrats’ and apologize for me. I couldn’t get leave.”

                She started to relay Puck’s words until she realized what she was doing and stopped. “I’m not a damn relay service. Sam’s just about to leave, so you can call him and tell him yourself.”

                “Why am I leaving?” Sam questioned. “I thought we were about to dig into this pie.”     

                “Puck, give me a second okay?” Santana muted the headset. She was prepping herself to go into this spiel, but Sam stopped her.

                “Look, I just need some place to hang out for a few hours, and I knew you’d be home. We don’t have to talk or anything. I just need a little space from Mercy, for like an hour or so, and you guys are the only ones I know out here.”

                “You’re here because you’re trying to hide from your wife?” Which, she totally understood that. But as a woman, that was so not cool. Mercedes was pregnant.

                Sam didn’t look particularly pleased with himself. “I love her, but pregnant Mercedes is worse than Mercedes on her period with the mood swings, and…I just need a little time away.”

                “She’s that way because she’s carrying _your_ spawn!”

                Sam threw his hands up in the air. “I _know_ , okay! I just…needed a break.”

                “What does she think you’re doing right now?”

                “Out looking for a job, but don’t tell her, please,” he pleaded. “I know you don’t like me for whatever reason, and that’s fine, but just cause you don’t like me, doesn’t mean that you have to be so rude about it. If you needed just to hang, I wouldn’t kick you out, and I don’t even get why you don’t like me in the first place.”

                “You don’t know why I don’t like you?”

                He shook his head. “I really don’t, Santana.  There’s no basis for it. I’m a good guy. I was a good boyfriend to you even though you were just using me. Actually, I was a good boyfriend to all of your friends-”

                “Yes, that’s right, _all_ of them. You kind of made your rounds, didn’t you?”

                “Who didn’t in Glee? You, Quinn, and Rachel all dated or had sex with both Finn and Puck. Mercedes dated Puck, too. Hell the only one who didn’t date Puck was Finn and Kurt, and I’m not so sure that that didn’t happen.”

                Santana bit back the urge to laugh, because she wouldn’t be surprised if Puck ever told her that he’d gotten with a dude before.

                “Even though you were mean and insulting, I’ve still been a good friend to you. When someone we loved needed help, I asked for it from you even though I knew it wouldn’t help me, and would raise you up in Brittany’s eyes. I’ve even defended you, even after you came out with that horrible song, so please tell me what I did to earn your ire?”

                Did Trouty just say ‘ire’. “Hey, that song was brilliant! You know what you did? You put Cheerios on the floor for Brittany to eat! And you married her!”

                “Fake married her! And is that what this is about? Brittany? You’re going to hold a grudge against me because I started dating the girl that you broke up with? Does that even make sense when you say it in your head? If everyone in Glee acted like you’re acting right now, none of us would even still be talking to each other anymore!  

                “And don’t you think that it’s a little bit immature that you don’t like me because of my relationship with Brittany when you’re married to _Quinn_? Brittany’s not your wife, or your girlfriend, so the fact that you still hate me for that just doesn’t make sense! Maybe my gestures didn’t make sense to you, but Brittany got it, and that’s all that matters because she was the one that the gesture was for in the first place! You and Quinn were complete bitches to each other all throughout high school, and some of college, and yet you don’t see any one of us refusing to be friends with either of you because of it.”

                Well, when it gets put that way. Santana didn’t really dislike, dislike Sam. She had told Mercedes on more than one occasion that the two of them needed to work their shit out because she always thought they were perfect for each other…she just didn’t really want to be friends with him. She didn’t want to have to add him to her life (the list was getting pretty full as it was). She didn’t really have a reason other than that by now her dislike was pretty much out of tradition. He was her wife’s best friend’s (oh who was she kidding, Mercedes was one of her best friends too) husband, so at the least she should tolerate him. And he was a good guy; had been a good guy with and to the people that she loved. And all of that stuff was so very long ago. And shit, Brittany had eaten a snickers bar from a litter box so the Cheerios on the floor was a step up.         

                “Pepperoni?” she demanded.

                An eager grin quickly took over Sam’s face. She could see, slightly, how it could be endearing. It was like having a 6’0 puppy. “Chorizo, jalapeno and salsa.”

                Santana winced. Damn.

                “Alright, you can stay.”

                If possible the smile grew, and he instantly reached into the box to grab a slice. Santana chewed through her own before unmuting her headset. “Still there, Puck?”

                “Roger that. I haven’t gotten a call from Sam yet, so he must still be there, hunh?”

                “Shut up,” Santana hissed.

                “That’s a yup. You want to just call it?”

                “Hell, no. This is the only day this week I can get on the game!”

                But Santana and Puck did end up calling the game less than half an hour later because Sam was looking like a lost puppy, and Santana did have a heart.

                “So how’s the Diva and the TroutyTot?” she questioned, as she was shutting off the game. “Still cooking?”

                She went to change out of her costume while Sam thought it over. When she came back she really looked at him. He was looking a bit on the drawn side. She could see stress markers a mile away.

                “Yeah…our little bean’s still cooking.” He gave the dopiest smile, one reminiscent of Finn. “This morning, I wake up with my arm around Mercedes waist, and I-I couldn’t help but smile because…this is real. I woke up from a dream, yet it’s real, and we’re married. She’s my wife. She has my name, and we’re about to have a kid. Like a living, breathing …thing! I heard its heart beat. It’s real, and it’s mine, you know? Like we did that!”

                Santana was very careful to school her features. “But then it hit me: I’m about to be a dad! In May. That’s only six months from now! And I’m going to be someone’s dad. How do you…how do you wrap your head around it?”

                It was purely rhetorical; Santana knew that Sam wasn’t expecting her to answer, but she couldn’t stop herself from answering him anyway. “You don’t. Until you actually hold them, you can’t wrap your head around it. But hen that first time…the first time you hold them, actually hold them in your arms, and they look up at you, and even though they can’t see you, they know you’re you. And that moment that you realize that this little miracle in your hands trust you without question, you know that you’ll do everything that you can for them. And then it just kind of makes sense.”

                “What if I mess up?”

                Santana could see how that particular thought had been troubling him. “You will,” Santana assured him. “You’re going to mess up, and you’re not going to do the right thing, because you’re not perfect, and no one does parenthood without messing up. So you have to get over that right now. You will drop your child, at least once. You will probably drop your phone on them. You’re going to get upset with them, and lose your temper because they’ll be days that they never seem to stop crying no matter what you do. You may miss feeding them a meal or two, and all of that is okay, Sam. It happens.”

                Santana was aware of the look Sam was giving her, a look that was curious, surprised, but that showed he was listening raptly. “You’re not going to have the perfect kid,” (although Phil came pretty close to it), “and you’re not going to be the perfect parent, because there’s no such thing. But as long as you love them, and you raise them to be as kind and considerate as their parents are, you’re going to be alright. You’re going to be a good dad, Sam.”

                Silence fell after Santana’s pronouncement as they both sat and contemplated her words. “Thank you, Santana.”

                She grimaced, “Don’t mention it. I mean that seriously. Don’t mention it.”


	4. Life, the Universe, and Everything

Santana didn't allow herself to fill up on pizza because Quinn would be home soon, and for reasons that Santana couldn't fathom, her wife still didn't see pizza as an acceptable dinner time meal more than once a month. So she allowed herself a slice and a half, and she and Sam watched two episodes of  _Arrow_  before Santana decided to go back to her original plan of working on Quinn's family recipes.

Since Sam was still around, and didn't seem about to leave, Santana made him her sous-chef. Remarkably, when she told him to blanch the pearl onions to make them easier to peel, she didn't actually have to explain to him what that meant. They managed to work silently for a half hour before Sam felt compelled to speak.

"Why are we cooking Thanksgiving food for dinner if Thanksgiving isn't for another two weeks?"

Santana sliced too hard through the granny smith apple she was cutting. "Because Quinn and I are spending Thanksgiving with the Fabray clan and we're supposed to be hosting, which somehow means that I'm cooking while Quinn gets to sit around with the men and discuss football…" she paused, pointing her chef's knife at Sam. "Between me and Quinn, who would you say is more 'butch'?"

Sam looked nervously at the large knife. "What do you mean?"

"Like between the two of us who would you say is more girly?"

"You're both pretty girly," Sam answered. He actually looked her over, but not like in a creepy way. "Like all girl. Completely."

Santana rolled her eyes. "No, like I mean, which one of us would you say is more," she thought about a way to get her point across, "like…okay, so you know how…on  _Two and a Half Men_  when Ashton and Alan were pretending to be married, and Alan was like the woman, and Ashton was like the man, with me and Quinn who would you say is like…the man?"

Inwardly she was snarling at herself, because what the hell was she even saying?

"But you're  _both_  women."

"Yeah, but which one of us is less womanly?" She should have asked Puck. Actually, she shouldn't be having this conversation, but really all she wanted to hear Sam say was that of the two of them, Quinn should completely be the one in the kitchen while Santana sat around talking about the game, or what not. She was  _not_ the "little woman". So what if she let Quinn be the outside spoon? That was just because Quinn was taller...and Santana might like to be held sometimes. And yeah, Quinn might sleep closer to the door, but that was only for now. Santana had moved into Quinn's place, and into Quinn's bed, but once they got  _their_  place, and  _their_  bed, she'd be back on the left where she belonged. And if bullets were flying, Santana would definitely be the one who would jump in front of one for Quinn. That was a given.

"Okay, I'm confused because when I said that there were a man and a woman in every relationship, even the gay ones, Mercedes smacked me upside my head, so I'm not sure what you're asking."

"If you had to picture one of us being in the kitchen cooking and the other doing the quote unquote manly Thanksgiving things like watching football and whatever the hell men do while the women are cooking, would you picture me doing it, or Quinn? I don't even know if Quinn even knows the rules of football, which is really sad since she used to be a cheerleader."

Sam suddenly looked intensely relieved. "Wait, so you're asking which one of you should be the one cooking?"

"Yes!"

"Oh!" He looked like a complex math problem had just been solved for him. "You."

Santana frowned. "Why me?"

"Because Quinn doesn't cook," he said simply. He went back to the task he had been set with, not realizing that that wasn't the end of the conversation.

"What do you mean she doesn't cook? She cooks all the time."

He shook his head. "No, she cooks for you. She doesn't cook for anyone else. She has like this fear of public cooking or something. It's kind of weird."

"She…what?"

"Yeah, I totally didn't even know that it was a thing, but for some reason cooking for other people like really stresses Quinn out. Like really. She gets all nervous, and starts itching, and gets hives. She's all like awrgh!" Santana startled at the sound Sam made, something that sounded a lot like a bird dying. He scratched his ear, and puffed out his cheeks. "Awrgh!" He looked expectant. Santana looked at him as if he were suffering from a mental illness. "Will Smith?  _Hitch_ …?" he shrugged. "So… Quinn doesn't like to cook."

"How do you know this and I don't?"

"Remember when Quinn was helping me out?" Santana nodded. "Well we were supposed to be making cookies for a bake sale, and she was helping Stacy, but she started to like freak out, but like Quinn freak out, so she tried to pretend that nothing was wrong, and she excused herself, and I asked, and yeah."

Santana thought over Sam's words, thinking about how many times Quinn had cooked, willingly, eagerly even, for her. It made her feel warm that here was one more thing, one more way she got to experience her wife that no one else did. With Sam's information she was more willing to do the Fabray family dinner, with slightly less complaining, which made her wonder if Quinn had planted him over here with this story. She tried to think of past incidences of Quinn cooking. If Judy had trained her to be Ms. Suzy Homemaker wouldn't that have included being able to cook as well?

Why couldn't Quinn just tell her that, though?

Santana was unaware of Sam studying her until she looked up and caught his eye. "What are you staring at Lisa Rinna?"

He gave a slight shake of his head in an 'Oh Santana' way. "You two, I don't get you. Why do you guys still get surprised when you find out how much you love each other when it's obvious to everyone else, but you?"

"There's not much room for you to talk. Who  _just_ got married to Mercedes?"

"Yeah, but I never doubted what I felt for my girl, or what she felt for me. I've always known that we love each other though. We just had to wait for our right moment. You and her? It's like neither of you expect love or think that you deserve it, or it's something you should have. You're as abrasive as a Brillo pad, and you have the  _strangest_ way of expressing your appreciation for people, but you're good people's Santana."

Santana scowled because no…just no. "No shit, I know this. Are you sure it's Mercedes that's full of pregnancy hormones and not you?"

Sam just shook his head, and went back to what he was doing.

* * *

By the time Quinn made it home, Santana was alone in a fairly cleaned kitchen, thanks in large part to Sam who ran a very skillful rag over the counters which may have earned him a few extra points in Santana's book. Like not enough for him to call him up for company, but enough so she wasn't going to just slam the door in his face the next time he stopped by…as long as it was a couple of months before he felt the need to stop by again. Or at least a couple of weeks. She was just putting the finishing touches on the food that she was cooking, when the front door opened. The words were almost instantaneous, "San, I'm h…oh, God, that smells so good!"

Quinn's nose led her into the kitchen where Santana was still standing at the stove. Hands slid around Santana's waist. "What'd you cook?"

Santana sank into her wife's embrace. "Try this?" Santana blew on the contents of the spoon before she brought the blood red concoction up to Quinn's lips. Quinn's tongue poked out for a second, giving a hesitant taste before her mouth wrapped around the entire spoon. "Oh my god, what is that?"

"I took your Grandma's cranberry sauce recipe and made a cranberry orange chutney with it."

Quinn opened her mouth for another taste. "That is so good, sweetie, like really, really good." Quinn held the mouthful in her mouth trying to dissect it completely, sifting through the layers. "What am I tasting?"

"The ginger?"

"No, the bitter sweet thing that's underlining everything."

"Granny smith apple," Santana said proudly. "I boiled a few quarters and then finely cut up some more to give it some added texture."

"Well that, that's a keeper."

"Yea, what can I say, I'm magic."

Quinn pressed a kiss to the back of her wife's neck. "I know. I might just have to keep you around, after all."

"Are you stealing my lines now?"

She felt Quinn's laughter. Santana swung her arm around to put an arm around Quinn. She placed a kiss on her forehead. "How was your day, babe?"

"Ugh," Quinn sighed.

"Was it that bad?"

"I'll be  _so_ happy when this Suffolk Fidelity account gets put to bed. Talk about a company who was doing some creative accounting. What about yours?"

"I was giving homework this weekend." Santana decided to leave it at that. She wasn't going to make a big deal out of being a project lead until it was over.

Quinn frowned slightly. "Does that mean that you're going to be going into the office this weekend?"

"No, I can work from home for most of it. Besides, if I stay late for the next couple of days, I shouldn't have to."

"Well good," Quinn said, giving her wife an extra hard squeeze. Upon feeling something  _off_  beneath Santana's shirt, she hugged her again feeling the band of her wife's costume. Quinn spun her around so that they were facing each other. With a curious glance, she lifted the bottom of the t-shirt, just now noticing the bottom half of Santana's warrior outfit, and seeing that her face was painted. "You and Noah were on the game?"

Santana nodded. "Yep."

"And you dressed up?"

Santana nodded eagerly, watching the expression on Quinn's face change. She wasn't sure if Quinn's thumb running up and down her arm was subconscious or intentional. Quinn plucked at the fabric covering Santana's chest. "What's with the t-shirt?"

"I had company show up unexpectedly and I had to throw something on." She decided not to mention that said company was Sam for no other reason than she didn't feel like hearing Quinn make a big deal about them being civil to each other, or even worse, try to convince Santana that she should try to spend more time with the boy in the future.

Quinn's fingers made their way under the shirt, teasing both the skin of her stomach, and the strap on the costume. She tugged on the strap sharply, bringing Santana closer to her, their lips sealing together. "You know how I feel about your ceremonial garb."

Santana smiled into the kiss. She winked. "I know."

Quinn buried her hands beneath the shirt, pushing it up off of Santana's shoulders. She took a moment just to admire her wife's nearly naked form, amused when she noticed that the bra matched the rest of the outfit which meant that at some point Santana had had to change it, because that wasn't the same one she'd been wearing earlier.

"A Kari warrior is uniform in all aspects of dress."

Quinn's lips curled. "Oh yeah, what else is a Kari warrior?"

She laid fluttering kisses on Santana's neck. "Mmm…well…strong," she answered, flexing even while Quinn continued to kiss her. "Fearless."

Quinn used her teeth to gently tug at the skin, tracing over the path her teeth took with her tongue. "Sexy…I think that's like a given."

"Definitely," Quinn agreed.

Her hands worked their way around Santana's back, pausing at the back of the clasp to see if Santana would pose an objection, and when she didn't she continued with what she was doing. Quinn kissed the spot where Santana's bra rested on her shoulders as she removed the bra straps off of them.

"Loyal."

Quinn did pause at that word, preventing Santana from saying anything else for a few minutes as she returned to her wife's lips. "I can still taste the sauce on you," Santana said with a laugh. When Quinn opened her mouth even the slightest, perhaps to question what Santana was about to say, Santana stuck her tongue in the other woman's mouth, taking over the kiss.

"You forgot the greatest feature of a Kari warrior," Santana said into Quinn's lips. She flipped them so Quinn's back was the one against the stove. "We're always in control." She palmed a handful of Quinn's ass, lifting her up, and sitting her on the counter. "Completely." She grew more forceful with the kiss as she started to unbutton Quinn's blouse. She had to momentarily stop because Quinn had worn an annoying sweater vest covering the shirt, and she had to pull away to lift the thing over Quinn's head. The fabric was discarded on the kitchen floor, but instead of Santana going back to kissing Quinn, she drew back. She took in the sight of Quinn's heaving chest, as she attempted to calm her breathing, her breast pushing against the purple bra that Quinn had chosen to put on today, a color that made her look even paler than usual.

Her eyes rose in increments until they met with those familiar multi-color orbs that were more golden than green at the moment. Almost lazily, perhaps reverently, Santana undid the clips that kept her wife's hair from flowing free, and she watched it cascade down her head. She was aware of Quinn watching her, and waiting, surprisingly patient, probably wondering what Santana was going to do. She raised a questioning hand to place against the darker haired woman's cheek. Santana turned her head to place kisses on the fingers, soft and gentle, until without warning she sucked the longest of them into her mouth, which produced a moan from Quinn's lips. She sucked lewdly, calling to mind all the times that Quinn had been sprawled on her back with Santana tucked between her legs, her tongue working wonders until she came numerous times, and her legs turned to jelly.

The feeling of Santana's mouth around her was so good, that Quinn didn't even realize that Santana had semi-removed her bra and shirt until she felt Santana's hands on her bare breasts. Santana sucked another finger, her middle, into her mouth, making sure to pay close attention to the space in-between the fingers. Her teeth grazed them every now and then because she knew how much Quinn liked that, and judging by the noises that Quinn was currently making, she was doing something right.

With a pop, Santana surrendered Quinn's fingers only to move further south. Quinn shook her shirt and bra off her arm. She placed kisses to the top of Santana's head, as Santana's thumbs found her nipples and her hands cupped her breast pushing them up. Moments later her longue was lathing affection on them. Quinn's resolve weakened and her hips started to move, needing more contact from her wife. Santana pushed her body further in between her legs, rotating her hips to provide some friction. She didn't otherwise indicate that she had any intention of going any further south than Quinn's breast, so after several minutes of Santana's tongue showing affection on Quinn's nipples, (and with images in Quinn's head of what that tongue could do in other places), Quinn slipped her hand beneath the waistband of her skirt and underwear.

She was unsurprised to find that she was practically drenched. She pressed the fingers that Santana had been sucking on into her core, but she didn't move them. She felt Santana's hands move from her breasts, to her ass, pulling Quinn to her, and rotating her hips in a way that pushed her fingers further inside of her. They continued in this way until Quinn felt a familiar sensation building. Santana panted into her neck, and she wanted to ask her wife if she had come, but she didn't. Instead she laughed, because the last time Santana had worn that outfit, they had pretty much dry humped then, too, and then she remembered that Santana had cried afterwards.

"Sweetie?"

"Yeah, babe?" Santana questioned.

"Why d _id_ you cry? That one time?" Quinn was certain she already knew the answer to that, but she wanted to hear it anyway. It only made her love her wife even more that Santana didn't need clarification of what she meant. "Because it was just so much, so much good, so much happy, so much everything, in that one moment. I had maybe just had one of the best sexual experiences ever, and it was with you, and we were married, and I realized that this woman that I loved may possibly love me, back. I mean, what else do you do but cry when you realize that you suddenly had everything you ever wanted?"

* * *

The third time Ziggy's back met with the mat he decided to say something. "Want to talk about it?" he breathed out heavily. It took a lot to wind him, but Santana had put him through some serious work outs over the past several weeks, and this day in particular she was really going at it. Although he loved the passion and aggression Santana was bringing to the table, he was also not an entirely spring chicken. If this kept up, he was going to have some serious back problems by the time he was 40. In the words of Santana, 'no me gusta'…though…the perception of chronic pain did have its benefits…

Santana rolled off of him, sitting cross-legged beside him, as he rolled himself up into a sitting position, too. "Nothing to talk about."

"Really? Because as much as I enjoy a good work out, and I really enjoy a good work out, you've been going hard every day for more than a month. I've had to cut back on my naturals to make sure I can keep up with you."

Only Ziggy could say that sentence in that oh so casual way. "You're a federally employed employee. How are you possibly able to 'naturally consume' anything?"

Ziggy gave a serene smile. "Ah, my young, tiny grasshopper. When they ask you about your drug usage on your clearance form, they don't ask because they actually care; they ask because they want to see if you're going to lie. I don't lie."

Santana did a flip to get on her feet and heard her body give a slight groan of protest. She winced, feeling a little old. She fully righted herself and helped Ziggy to his feet. Inwardly she gave a small smile at his own, slight, wince at being righted. Ziggy gave a small sigh, but he didn't hesitate to get in the proper position. They started to circle each other. "Is this sudden physical assault because you're in your head about having your first kill?"

Santana momentarily straightened out, until a disapproving look put her back in her stance. "No."

Ziggy was the first to enter Santana's space. He saw an opening and aimed a punch at her midsection, more to set up the counter attack than because he actually expected it to land. "You fired your revolver the last time you went out into the field. If orders hadn't been to apprehend, would you have aimed a little higher? Taken the kill shot if necessary?"

Santana aimed a kick at Ziggy's head, which he countered. His question reminded her of the interrogation that she had been submitted to a few weeks prior. A similarly worded line of questioning had been posed to her by her moderator. "Your partner was detained, she was being handled," Santana let loose a series of jabs and punches that Ziggy easily volleyed. "There was a gun pointing at her, a gun pointing at you. If you're in that situation again, would you take the shot?"

She landed a punch to the ribcage, and a kick to the shin, that Ziggy merely absorbed. "Are you asking as a friend, or as an agent?"

"Merely curious," Ziggy replied. "It's not something that's easy to do. Take a life."

He caught her off guard with a jab to the body, slipping in a hook as well. It disoriented her for a second or two as her head snapped around violently.

"Have you ever killed anyone?" The next blow Santana landed was a lot more forceful. It took Ziggy a little longer to recover from it, giving Santana time to get in a few more punches and kicks.

"Yes," Ziggy said to her surprise. "Three times." She waited for him to elaborate, but he didn't seem inclined to do so. So when he did respond, it took her by surprise. "I was in a kill or be killed situation." Santana thought back to the moment in the warehouse, because it had been on her mind ever since she got back from Arizona.

Santana's legs were swept out from beneath her. Discipline and training was the only thing that prevented her from automatically rolling as soon as she landed, giving Ziggy her back; an instinctual and fatal move. "If it was an emergency situation, to save me or my partner's life, yes I would have taken the shot."

"Would you still?"

That question, in a more cut and dry form had been asked, too. Santana and Bryne's professional relationship was currently being evaluated because Paulson didn't believe that the partnership between them had remained intact after Hazel and Phil went into the program. There were other agents for Santana to work with, and she had worked with other agents in the past, it was just that Bryne had trained her, she worked the best with Bryne, she had always liked Bryne. But while their partnership was in question, they wouldn't be sent back out together, thus the need for the dinners.

It was Santana's turn to end up pinned down on the mat, and after a brief struggle to free herself from the hold Ziggy had on her, she tapped out when she felt her head start to swim from lack of blood flow. This time they decided to both stay down.

"So this new found aggression is about the job?"

Santana tilted her head in a non-committal gesture. She felt how sore her body was, and decided she could be a little more open. "I'm scared," she admitted. "I know I'm not supposed to be scared, but I am."

"Fear is a natural response. It's what keeps us alive. Do you think that you're the only one ever afraid?"

"No."

"Do you think that Bryne's never scared?"

"No. It's just that I'm supposed to be so tough, and I'm supposed to seem like I'm in control, and right now I feel like I lost that."

"Because you were shot?"

"I'm not really freaking out about getting shot as much as I thought I would, you know? In the back of my mind, I always knew that it could happen. And shit, it hurt like a bitch when it did. I guess the weird thing is that I'm more afraid of Quinn being told that I've died than I am of actually dying. If it were to happen, I've done my part in that equation. I'm done. I don't have to be there to deal with what that means. She would. I've never worried about that before. I've never had to worry about that before."

"So this is more about your personal life?"

Santana's brow furrowed as she tried to rationalize her thoughts. "I didn't think that it was. I thought it was about the job, and what went down, and about life in general, but I think I'm mostly just hiding from my wife."

Ziggy waited in that quiet manner of his, one where you didn't really feel that he was waiting for you to talk, but you knew that if you did, he would listen, and probably offer some Zen-like advice, but only if he felt like you needed to hear it. He stretched a little, showing off how incredibly limber he was.

Santana sat staring off at nothing. "We're not having sex-," She nipped slightly at her lip, playing with her lank, sweaty hair. "And I'm used to it fairly frequently, so all of this extra energy is me having the need to exercise it out."

"I know marriage kills sex, but isn't it too early in the marriage for you guys to not be having sex?" Ziggy joked.

"It was a personal choice."

"For how long?"

"How long will I have the need to exercise it out?"

"No, how long have you gone without sex?"

Santana gave him a slight smile. "It's been a few months, and we've still got a few more to go. We've fooled around, like I'm not a martyr, but we haven't done the actual act."

Ziggy didn't seem like he was particularly shocked by such a revelation, which Santana was intensely grateful for because everyone else acted like she announced the end of the world. It was nice having someone not acting like it was the only thing that Santana knew how to do. Part of her desire to keep going with this was that it made her feel good that Quinn was  _willing_  to wait for her. She hadn't had too many people in her past willing to do that. Even her and Brittany's relationships seemed to get strained when the sex wasn't frequent.

"Denying oneself pleasure allows for a more intimate examination of oneself," Ziggy tossed out casually bringing Santana way from her thoughts. Santana's eyes remained fixated on the mat she was sitting on. She thought about all of the people who had rested on it before her and wondered how often the gym actually washed them. The thought was slightly more depressing than the conversation at hand. "Self-examination allows us to become more whole human beings, which in turn makes us better partners to our partners." Ziggy gave her a placid look; she wondered if he knew how to get angry. "Is your desire to get more intimate with yourself or your wife?"

"It's both. Me and Quinn have always used sex as a means to not have to communicate with each other. I didn't say 'I love you' because I kissed it into her and expected her to understand that it was true without me having to say it. We would have an argument and have sex instead of saying 'I'm sorry'. When one of us wanted something from the other, instead of asking, we'd fuck. There were times when one of us wanted to confess our feelings, and the other would kiss and fuck the words away, which ultimately did us absolutely no good because later we'd wonder if the other cared about us as much as we cared for them, and it'd leave us angry because we felt alone in our feelings.

"People who aren't able to communicate with each other, relationships that don't have communication in them, they don't last. Communicating through sex is all fine and what not, but what happens when we stop having it down the line? Be it "Lesbian Bed Death" or just because it eventually tapers off, if we never learned how to actually communicate our love and appreciation for the other, what's going to hold us together?"

"Common interests and community property?" he joked.

"What if sex  _was_  our common interest? I mean it's not…me and Quinn are so alike it can be kind of scary, but we just…I just kind of threw us into this marriage thing, and we did it before we worked out the things that had hurt us in the past that had kept us from each other. Quinn's been in love with me since high school, and I've been in love with her for nearly 10 years, and it took us until we were already married before we could even say I love you to each other. We missed out on so much because after that one weekend all either of us let us be to the other was fuck buddies."

Ziggy nodded to himself. "I can understand wanting to fix that. It seems like you gave up sex to learn how to communicate with each other, yet you're not communicating these things to your wife."

"I am. I'm being open. I'm telling her I love her, and we're talking things out. I shared with her my heartbreak over what happened with my son. I talk to her about my job. I explain myself a lot more than I have in the past."

"But-,"

"But the big things that have been bothering me lately, it's not something I  _can_  talk to her about."

"Job related things?"

"No. That would be easy. It's more personal. Quinn's never been lucky in the love department, and her mom and dad did a number on her growing up, so she's insecure. Like really insecure. Far more than she lets on. If I told her what I'm feeling, no matter how I say it, I know she'll react badly. She won't hear anything after I tell her what's bothering me, and she won't remember anything before it, either. She'll internalize, she'll pull away, she'll beat and bottle herself up, and I'd probably lose her over it."

"What's so big that would do all that?"

Santana thought about going another round with Ziggy just so she wouldn't have to verbally say the thing that she'd been thinking about for so long. Speaking it out loud would mean that she actually believed it, and if that were the case, what was she supposed to do then?

"I don't think that getting married to Quinn was the right thing to do." She felt guilty even saying the words, as if their very utterance was a betrayal to her wife and best friend. She had stood by her wife's side and vowed to love her forever, she had told Quinn, how many times now, that she was the only woman for her, that she would be with her, and stand by her side, and support her, and cherish her? And she did. She really did. She loved Quinn. She was in love with Quinn. But she couldn't shake the feeling that, just like always, she had just powered through without properly thinking things through. The worst thing about it was that this wasn't even something she could talk to Quinn about. Quinn would only hear that Santana was doubting the marriage, and that would be it. Quinn would go to one of two poles, both equally damaging. She could ask for Quinn's reassurance on just about anything, just not this.

She looked over at Ziggy, halfway expecting to see a condemning look on his face, but she never got it. Ziggy didn't comment, either, just waited for her to continue.

"I guess the best way to explain how I'm feeling is to compare it to a toy that you fall in love with in January. You really want it, so you ask your parents to get it for you, and they tell you that if you're really good maybe Santa will bring it to you for Christmas. So you stay on your best behavior for the rest of the year, anxiously waiting for this thing that you're sure you want more than everything else, and finally Christmas comes, and you're  _so_  excited."

"Only she's not just that one gift that you wait for, she's every gift for the past 10 years, and suddenly it's in front of you and you can finally open it."

"Are you scared that when you 'open this gift' you're not going to get what you want, or that what you want isn't what you thought you did?"

"In high school I dated my best friend, and I thought she was everything, the world, but I was wrong. She was just my first love. After me and Quinn had sex for the first time, it was like things just clicked, like I suddenly had an answer to a prayer I didn't even realize I was praying, but even then I knew that I had to wait for it to fully be answered, that I couldn't have it right away. But instead of waiting patiently for Christmas, I…I don't know, peeked, I wasn't good. I didn't do what I was supposed to. Or maybe she's just the kind of gift that you're supposed to want, but you're not allowed to have.

"I just feel so  _wron_ g lately. Like I'm doing everything wrong. I don't know, Zig. People like me and Bryne aren't supposed to get married."

"Why do you think that?"

"Because being with her makes me happy, but being with me may cause her pain."

She looked at Zig in anticipation. "That's the funny thing about love. We love our partner so much that we declare that we would do anything for them, and wouldn't want to ever cause them pain, never taking into consideration that they feel exactly the same way about us. Do you know what I really think?"

"That's why I'm talking to you about this, all wise and knowing Yoda."

Ziggy seemed to be contemplating either some loose skin on his foot or the universe; it was often hard to tell with him. "I think that you suffered a major loss, two really-"

"Two?"

"Your son and the loss of your invincibility. So you have these two big losses, and in the face of that you're subconsciously trying to sabotage the other good things in your life by manifesting problems that aren't there because you have this mistaken belief that it won't hurt as much if you give something up before it can be taken away from you."

That unfortunately sounded too right on. Quinn wasn't the only one who knew how to self sabotage. "Or?"

"Or, like you said, you had to introduce your wife to this big, scary world and you feel bad about it, but you really shouldn't because it's a world that exists whether or not Quinn knows about it, and at least your wife has you to help her navigate it."

Ziggy picked at the skin on his exposed foot. "Honestly, though, I really think you're merely freaking out because in a few days you'll be turning 30, and you're just starting to realize that you've been on this earth for 3 decades, and that's inwardly freaking you out."

Santana was a bit taken aback by this unexpected prognosis because she hadn't thought about her upcoming birthday at all. "You think that all of this is just about me turning 30?" she questioned doubtfully.

"30 is a big life change. It really hits you that college is over and you can't turn back, you start having families, kids, if you've already had kids they're no longer in that baby stage, you don't drink and hang out as much, you find you like being at home more, you're more serious about your job. You're serious about life in general. It can be scary. So can the possibility of facing the unknown. But the universe knows how to take care of itself, and the sooner you learn that, the more at peace you get with life, the universe, and everything. My suggestion to you, smoke a fat one, hug your wife, and curl up in front of the fire, because yeah, things are about to change, but that's just an everyday thing."

He leaned over and planted a kiss on her forehead to her surprise. "Oh, and happy birthday."

 


	5. The True Meaning of Christmas

 

Friday night found Santana sitting on the couch with Sam Evans, of all people. She had already gone through her upcoming presentation once, and as Sam had nearly fallen asleep listening to it, Santana figured it was pretty close to perfect. Now they had on a movie,  _The Transporter,_ which was possibly, in her opinion, the best action flick ever, but she wasn't really watching the movie. Her cell phone was on the coffee table, next to her propped up feet, and she kept glancing at it, or more specifically, the time. It was ticking closer to 7:00, and Quinn was usually home a lot earlier than this on Friday nights. She got off of work at 4:00, and Santana was beginning to worry about where her wife was. Sam was a distraction, but not quite enough.

She gave him a side-ways glance. "Isn't Mercedes going to start wondering where you're disappearing off to?"

As if on cue, Sam's phone went off. As Mercedes ring tone echoed in the apartment, Santana glanced, once again, at her own silent phone, missing Sam's panicked squeak. "It's Mercedes! What do I do?"

"Answer it, genius."

"What do I say?"

"I don't know, but I wouldn't let it go to voice mail."

Sam reluctantly answered his phone. "Uh, hi sweet lady," he said in some imitation of a character Santana had never heard of. Santana had never gotten any of his references, and she couldn't figure out if Sam didn't know that he was that bad, or if he knew and didn't care. "Where am I? Ummm…out?"

Santana rolled her eyes. This poor sap had no concept of how to successfully lie to your spouse. Feeling his lie wasn't sufficient Sam added, "buying…a fish?"

Oh this poor, poor fool. He wasn't going to survive. Santana finally caved and typed out a quick message to her wife saying only two words:  ** _Home soon?_**

She realized that Sam had hung up with Mercedes. When she looked back over at him he looked green. "She wants me home right now."

"Uh oh, sounds like someone's in trouble."

"What should I do?"

"Grovel?" Santana suggested.

"Gee, thanks, pal."

"Go down on her?"

Sam appeared to like this idea more. He stood up, switching off the movie. "Hey! I was still watching that!"

"I need a ride."

"Call a cab!"

"Really, Santana? I'm already in hot water with my girl as it is. I would give you a ride."

"It's cold out there!" Santana protested. Santana grunted as she stood up. "Fine! You are really testing me, Evans, and this better not take forever because Quinn's supposed to be home soon." She continued to glower at Sam, but went looking for her keys, her jacket, and a hat. Santana really hated winter and it hadn't even started yet.

There was silence in the car all the way from Quinn's apartment to Mercedes' brownstone. She looked over when Sam's text message alert went off. "'Cedes says that Quinn's with her." Sam alerted her.

Santana frowned. "What's she doing with Mercedes?"

"Mercedes needed Quinn's help with something, apparently," Sam responded.

Until she heard his voice, she wasn't aware that she said the words out loud.  _"Well why didn't she text_ me _?"_ Santana grumped. No, her wife wasn't under any obligation to let her know of her every movement, but if Santana hadn't let Quinn know where she was three hours after she was supposed to be home, Quinn would have been blowing up her phone demanding to know if she was okay, then yelling at her for at least a good 10 minutes letting her know just how worried she'd been, and how Santana should have at least texted.

Santana was able to slide into a spot directly in front of Mercedes' brownstone. "Tell Quinn to come out?"

Sam fired off a text. "She wants you to come inside," he informed her. "She and Mercedes are still working."

Santana groaned loudly, not bothering to hold back her frustration as she got out of the car, into the  _cold_ , to climb up the stoop, and into the building.

Mercedes' place was actually pretty nice. She had poured what she had earned from her music into buying the building (and her studio) and doing an overhaul on it. There were two apartments on the first floor, and with Sam's help, the second and third floor were being renovated to make one apartment and give them more living space for her new growing family.

Santana liked how it felt warm and inviting from the second you let yourself into the entrance. The paint was bright, but not overwhelming, and there were little touches: a closed in mudroom/mailroom, a bench to take a quick sit down, or to rest your bags on while you searched for your keys, real plants, some artwork. It was a space that no one would be in for more than a few minutes, tops, but it was a small bit of comfort that made it feel like you were coming home. She was sure Mercedes' tenants appreciated the space just as much as she did, and the fact that Mercedes kept the property well maintained, too, was just more of a bonus. If Santana wanted to live near down town, this was the kind of residence that she'd want to live in.

Sam walked past her and up the stairs, practically lumbering in front of her.  _Big oaf_ , Santana thought unkindly in her head as she followed in his wake. To amuse herself, she thought about Mercedes laying in to him as soon as the door opened, figuring it would be recompense for dragging her along with him in the first place.

Sam unlocked the door, but stopped short of opening it. "You go in first," he instructed.

Santana rolled her eyes. "It's not going to save you any from your wife by delaying. Trust me, I know."

Sam shrugged, and Santana thought he was being ridiculous, but she opened the door anyway. "Pathetic-," was on her tongue, almost spoken when she was hit by the wave of one word said almost in unison from several mouths: " _Surprise!"_  While Santana stood there, flabbergasted, two more words were thrown at her almost in explanation, "Happy Birthday!"

Quinn stepped forward with open arms and a kiss for Santana. She placed a pink plastic birthday crown on her head as well, holding out a matching scepter. "Happy birthday, baby!" Quinn cheered before placing a kiss on Santana's lips. She smiled into her wife's lips, taking an extra second or two longer to give her some additional love. "Were you surprised?"

The moment was momentarily ruined when an arm came down around Santana, followed by a matching one landing on Quinn's shoulders. "She was totally surprised," Sam said. "She actually thought that I was hiding from you, Mercy."

"He knows better than that," she asserted.

There were a few guys from work, Dex and Nichols, and a girl from the secretary pool, Hannah, She thought as well as a couple from Quinn's apartment that they were friendly with, and, of course,-

"30," Kurt said with an upturn of his perpetual baby face. "Is that a wrinkle I see?"

"Don't even joke," Santana said sternly. Because her birthday was near the end of the year (and she started school later than everyone else) Santana was the first among her peers to turn 30. This meant she was subjected to their aging taunts as the rest of them still had a couple of months before they turned 'over the baby hill' as Blaine said. Rachel was unsurprising quietly, because as her own 30th lurked just around the corner, anything she said would be just thrown back in her face in a couple of days.

Santana couldn't help smiling at the display, all there to see her, and she couldn't help showing Quinn her appreciation by cornering her and placing kisses on her lips every chance she got. She was even happy to see that Rachel was there.

The best part of the night was when Mercedes played the  _Cha Cha Slide_ , and they got a real view of just how old they were getting. When Quinn felt herself getting slightly winded she leaned against her wife. "'Member when I was a cheerleader," she huffed. "And we were breezing through Sue's two a days?"

Santana laughed, because she was pretty much doing those now, and so this dancing was a cake walk, but the same couldn't be said for everyone else, and of course Brittany danced around all of them, making them all look amateurish. Tamara only danced when her wife was present (with very good reason, she kind of danced slightly better than Finn when she was alone), but when she danced with Brittany, she couldn't manage to hide just how happy doing so made her. Santana caught herself watching them for a few minutes, and thought about how it was nice that they had all were all doing well; that they had all managed to find someone who could complete them.

Tamara found someone who could teach her how to dance, Brittany found someone who could teach her all new steps. Mercedes found someone who wouldn't run when she pushed, Sam found someone who he could hold on to. And she and Quinn? Quinn had found someone who could hold her together, and Santana found reasons not to fall apart. Quinn caught her eye, and Santana smiled at her, holding her hands out to entice her to dance.

Hours later, the party was dying down, and people were starting to leave. It wasn't like the kind of party that had dominated her high school and college career. It wasn't the kind where people stuck around until they passed out on whatever flat surface they could find, and woke up with hangovers. There was hardly any alcohol consumed at all. Ziggy was right…her 20s were over.

When no one else but the Glee kids remained, the New Yorkers started for the door as well. "As much as we would love to stay, this one," Kurt nodded at Rachel in case there was any doubt about who he was talking about, "has to be on stage tomorrow. And we promised the baby sitter we'd be back tonight."

"Oh, boo," Santana grunted, but she lined up like everyone else to say good bye. "You be safe driving back."

"And you watch those hips of yours," Kurt returned, driving home one last barb. "Happy Birthday Snixx. Love you guys."

"Call someone when you get home. Actually text all of us!"

"Okay, mother…!"

"Yeah, yeah."

When it was just the six of them, they settled into Mercedes amble seating in the living room, they put on a movie. When they had all settled into a lull, Santana looked around at the three remaining couples. Mercedes and Santana were both in their lovers' arms, while Brittany was stretched out with her head on Tamara's ballooning stomach. Santana nudged Mercedes with her foot.

Mercedes looked up slightly irritated, but her expression quickly evened out. " _Notice something?"_  Santana whispered. Mercedes had to draw her eyes away from the screen as she took in the scene. It took her a minute to figure out what Santana was talking about, but then she smirked, shaking her head as she went back to the movie they were all watching.

"What?" Quinn questioned, not missing the exchange.

"Lima blondes seem to sure love their brown," Mercedes answered, this time not turning away from the TV. In dawned on the blondes in the room what she meant. Sam hugged Mercedes closer to him. "Well I  _love_  my chocolate drop," he said at the same time that Quinn said, "I'm not a natural blonde."

Tamara, who had absentmindedly been combing her fingers through Brittany's hair, looked over in confusion. "What's going on?"

Santana merely pointed at herself, Tamara, and Mercedes, then Sam, Brittany, and Quinn, and she instantly got it. "Oh."

"I was saying the blondes in Lima like their browns."

"Or you guys are the ones falling for the blondes," Sam suggested.

"Quinn's not a natural blonde," Santana said immediately.

Tamara looked down on her wife in quiet contemplation. "I never dated a blonde before Brittany." Brittany smiled, shaking hook her hair out. "I never dated any person not of color before Britt; surprised the hell out of my mom."

"You too," Brittany said in jest. "I had to ask you out  _three_  times before you finally said yes."

"Really?" Santana blurted. She wasn't the only one who was surprised by this, because most people seemed to have trouble saying no to Brittany. Santana wondered if this was the key to their relationship. She could certainly see how the challenge had probably appealed to her ex.

"The first time she flat out told me no, the second time she told me she'd think about it before telling me no a week later, and the third time was the charm."

"I said yes the  _first_  time you asked me to marry you," Tamara said softly.

Brittany smiled happily, "Yes, you did."

Tamara surprisingly spoke up; addressing the crowd at large. "The first time I didn't take her seriously; Brittany was friendly, but she was always very friendly with all of the people on set. And I mostly kept to myself."

"I was constantly inviting you to come out with me. I purposely ran into you. I didn't do that with everyone."

Tamara squeezed her hand.

"The second time we had known each other a little better but I had to think about it; Brittany was far more outgoing then the people I was used to being around. And the final time,"

"She said yes!" Brittany giggled, and Tamara smiled down at her with a warm smile that all who witnessed it were pretty certain they were not meant to see it. Brittany leaned up to peck Tamara on the lips before she placed a kiss on her belly. "Love you, too, Squishy."

It was such an intimate moment that everyone else turned back to the movie to give them privacy.

It was pretty late by the time the movie was over, so they were all pretty much dragging ass to the door. Santana knew that they could stay over if they wanted to, but she wanted home and their bed, so they said their goodnights.

Quinn snuggled into Santana's shoulder as they headed down the stairs to Santana's car. She yawned. "Did you have a good birthday, sweetie?" she questioned sleepily.

"The best one yet," Santana said in answer.

* * *

The rental car came to a stop in front of a semi-familiar looking house. Santana breathed out slowly. "So I guess this is it."

Quinn placed a comforting hand on Santana's neck. "You're being ridiculous. My family's not that bad."

Santana snorted. "Oh, it's too late to try to pretend about that, Barbie."

Neither of them moved to get out of the car. Santana stared at the home in front of them. "What did your dad do? Get the same house just in smaller size?"

Quinn laughed. "I thought the same thing! And he married a Prudence. It's like a match pair: Judy and Prudy."

"But she's not a blonde."

"Surprisingly enough."

Santana turned towards Quinn. "Well…?" she questioned expectantly.

"Well what?"

"If I'm supposed to be playing the doting wifey this weekend, that makes you my gentlewoman, which means you're opening my doors."

Quinn got that 'Why did I marry this woman' look on her face, as she slipped from the car to walk around and open it for her wife. Santana fluttered her eyelashes once she righted herself before throwing a hand over Quinn's shoulder. "Carry me!"

"Get. Off!"

Prudence was there to greet them as soon as Quinn knocked. "Quinn, Santana," she said, cheerfully. "We're so glad that you could make it. Russ is in the library on the phone. Come in! He'll be out in a few minutes."

They exchanged identical glances as they crossed over the threshold, thrown off by the cheerful nature of this woman. She gave the two of them a brief tour of the downstairs. In the living room, Quinn was startled to see that besides a picture of Frannie with her husband and two children, was a picture of her and Santana. "Did you know he put that up?" Quinn whispered to her wife. Santana shook her head.

"No."

Santana gave Quinn a sideways glance, watching as Quinn tried to reconcile the picture to the man she knew her father to be. She couldn't imagine that man having a picture of his gay (bi) daughter and her wife hanging on the wall for anyone to see. After seeing that she needed a moment, so Santana stepped away and followed Prudence out of the room.

Santana wouldn't have minded her own moment because Russell's house was giving her flashbacks to high school. On those rare visits to the Fabray manor, Quinn had had to practically sneak Santana in the house, past the monstrous study, up to Quinn's room where even with a floor and a door between the man, Santana had been constantly warned against making 'excessive' noise. This had been followed by the Judy depression years which had pretty much been the same. Whenever Judy had been home, it was safe to assume that she was hung over. It had kind of just become common place for them to spend the time over at Brittany's or Santana's to avoid that altogether.

Santana shook her head of the memories. Some childhood. She just hoped that this weekend wasn't going to be reminiscent of those years.

"I've pulled out all the pots and pans that you might need and I got everything you put on the list that you emailed me, but if you need anything, just tell me, and we'll be happy to get it for you."

Santana looked over the red-headed Judy Fabray. "Did Russell put you through this, too?" Santana questioned.

Prudence merely smiled. "It's tradition."

* * *

Wednesday morning, Santana woke early to get started on the day. Before they left Boston, Santana had called home and her mom walked her though making Thanksgiving, and what needed to be cooked and when. Prior to this she had never put much thought into how all that food got on that table at the right time, but after talking to her mami she was realizing that it was a feat that took super human strength, and years of practice, to get it down to a science. Santana didn't have years, but she figured that as long as every got  _something_ to eat and every Fabray who came left still alive, she would count the whole affair a success.

Prudence was up just as early to make breakfast. Upon entering the kitchen she gave an amused glance at Santana's dry erase board where Santana had categorized every dish that she was making with a reminder of what temperature the item needed to be cooked at, and when it needed to be prepared. By her side she had a notebook of the recipes as well. "Is this your very first Thanksgiving doing this?" she questioned kindly.

Santana nodded, taking a seat at the bar. "Between my mom and dad's family battling it out in the kitchen, I never had to help out when I was younger. My abuela was always trying to drag me into the kitchen, but I usually had friends over, either Quinn or Brittany or both, so I had excuses not to help out."

"It is so amazing that you three have been friends as long as you have."

Santana blushed. "It really is. If you're fixing up breakfast you're going to earn some real points with Quinn if you-,"

Prudence beat her to it, holding up a white paper wrapped package. "Benton's Smoky Mountain hickory smoked country bacon and Dixon's wild cherrywood-smoked bacon. Does Quinn prefer waffles or pancakes?"

"Waffles," Santana answered.

Moments later a tired voice said, "Hey sweetie," and a hand snaked its way around Santana's waist. "What're you guys doing?"

"Mmm, you better be my wife, or else I guess I'm in trouble."

Quinn's lips tickled the back of Santana's neck. "And if I wasn't?"

"Well, then you might be my wife soon cause there's no way I'd let someone that feels as good as you go."

Quinn let go of her hold so she could stretch properly. "Why are you two up so early?"

"The question is why are you just getting up? Don't forget that you promised to help me with all of the prep work."

"I didn't forget. I promise, I'm all yours for the day."

"Just that long?" Santana questioned teasingly.

Quinn pushed on her shoulder. "God, you're really getting corny, you know that?"

"Oh whatevs, Fablo, you know you like it when I get all romantic and shit." Quinn smiled but didn't say anything. Santana gestured. "Prudence is making us breakfast."

"If that's okay," Prudence quickly said.

"Oh, don't worry. Quinn's a total breakfast whore, aren't you baby? She forces me out of bed first thing e _very_ Saturday morning, don't you?"

Quinn staged a gasp. "Hey! You promised! And I told you that you didn't have to, but you said that you like cooking for me."

Santana turned on the stool, pulling Quinn to her. "I do."

Conversation was friendly between the three of them while Prudence worked on breakfast and Santana and Quinn got started on the first dish. A lot of the side dishes were going to be done ahead of time, with mostly the meat and potatoes being cooked tomorrow. They worked in companionable silence for a fair amount of time before Russell came into the kitchen. "Good morning," he said in his boisterous voice. "How are you ladies doing in here?"

Santana didn't know how to respond, and Quinn just nodded. "Do you need help with anything?"

Santana looked over at Quinn, curious. Did Russell even know how to make his way around a kitchen? "No, thank you, dad, we're fine."

"Do you need me to make a run to the market?"

"Not yet, Russ, but we'll keep you in the loop."

"Okay. Remember, I am here for you." Russell went to a far cabinet and pulled down four mugs. "Hot chocolate or coffee?"

Surprisingly, Quinn smiled. "Hot chocolate!" Santana said the same, following her wife's lead.

"Prue?"

"Hot chocolate, please, dear."

Russ talked as he moved. "I was thinking that later, once Judy, and Frannie and company get here, we could go out looking for a Christmas tree…if you guys are up to it. Does that sound like something you'd like to do?"

Santana waited for Quinn to make the decision. "That sounds…great…dad."

He smiled, and at the sight of it Santana wondered if she had ever once seen a smile on the man's face before. She was sure she hadn't. When the cocoa was done, Russell melted candy canes into the four mugs, and passed them around. As soon as Quinn had taken hers, she held her mug back out to him expectantly, and without hesitating he dropped three mini marshmallows into them. Santana quickly followed suit.

"How many?" he questioned.

"Five?"

Russell obliged her. "Would you like some too, honey?" Prudence held up her hand, and shook her head.

Santana quickly discovered why Quinn was so eager as soon as she took her first sip. It was simply the best cup of hot chocolate she'd ever tasted. Like seriously, the best. Quinn gave her a questioning look, and Santana let her eyes roll back into her head.

"Good?" Russell questioned, knowingly.

Santana gave a flick of her head. "It's alright," she answered. Beside her Quinn snickered.

Santana was halfway through her cup when Russell broke the silence that was falling. "So, Santana. My daughter brought it to my attention some months ago, that I never took the time to really get to know you, and I wish to apologize for that."

"Umm…it's okay?"

"No, it's not, but I am trying to work on that. L…Quinn was telling me about your job earlier. How's that going?"

Santana gave a slight nod, resisting the urge to boast, something Russell no doubt halfway expected her to do. At the moment she had plenty to boast about. Her presentation had gone well, and she was scheduled to have a project meeting as soon as they got back from the holiday. Her team also had a book launching on Christmas Eve, and while they weren't expecting a  _Tiger Prince_  like premier, they were expecting it to be a hit, if not a best seller. "It's going well. I'm lucky enough that I get to enjoy what I do."

"You work at Little, Brown, correct?"

"Yes." She wasn't about to add the 'sir'. Sir was a sign of respect, and even though she was encouraging of her wife repairing her relationship with her father, he hadn't earned her respect. Not yet.

"What department?"

"Publishing. I do formatting."

Santana was expecting him to look unimpressed, but his look said the opposite. "A long time ago my family used to do stamping. It's how we got our start."

Quinn was astonished when that sentence triggered a half hour conversation between Santana and her dad. Although she was curious about this tidbit of her family's history, she wasn't able to get a word in edgewise, as Santana and Russell got into heavy talk about different printing presses, inks, and styles that carried them all the way through breakfast.

Judy's arrival seemed perfectly timed with the arrival of Frannie, her husband, Frank, and their two kids, Skye and Franklin, Jr., and Santana was glad as all attention seemed to shift to the prodigal daughter returning home. Judy must have sensed Santana feeling a little off because she pressed a kiss to her cheek. "How are you, sweetheart? Maribel sends her love. You look good, by the way."

Beside them, Frannie was actually doting on her younger sister, and the two of them were talking a mile a minute while Frankie held up his hands to be picked up. "Shy, this one is not," Frannie said, as Quinn bent down to pick him up like she did this often.

After they were all settled in, they bundled back up and drove out to the Taylor Christmas Tree Farm near the Ohio University campus. It was still early enough for them to have their pick of the trees, and Franklin and Russell led the hunt for the perfect one. Quinn slid her hand inside Santana's while they lazily looked, in no real hurry to choose. "Should we make this our Christmas tradition?" Quinn questioned quietly. Her eyes were on her niece and nephew who were running around the adults. She was semi worried about how Santana would react to them, but she seemed fine, occasional playing with the two of them.

"Finding a tree at Thanksgiving?" she questioned.

Quinn nodded. "Did you guys have real trees or fake ones growing up?"

"Fake ones. Definitely. Abuela was scared of spiders riding in with them, so we had a plastic one every year, but it was really nice." Quinn had been present for a couple of the Lopez's Christmas' so Santana filled her in on the traditions that Quinn hadn't been there for. "Christmas was incredibly traditional in our house. There was a big Christmas dinner on Christmas Eve, and then after we came back from midnight mass my parents let me open one gift. If I got up before my parents, I could open my stocking, too. Then it was mass, and after that it was a  _big_ Christmas breakfast, and then  _finally_ we got to open presents. Every year I had to choose one of my presents to give away, and as an incentive to be good and not annoy the hell out of my parents and aunts and uncles during the day, if we didn't get into any fights, break any toys, or what not, we didn't have to go to the evening mass."

"I'm guessing you were the only Lopez besides your abuela in the pew?"

Santana laughed and gave a nod. "Without fail, every year, my cousins seemed to get the best stuff, even if it was the same stuff I got. And one year I didn't want to give away any of my stuff, so my parents threatened to take it all back. I told them to prove it, and I ended up not getting any of my Christmas gifts until March."

"I wouldn't have given them to you at all. Did you guys do Christmas pajamas?"

Santana shook her head. "Nope. I didn't even know that was supposed to be a thing until Philip was born, and Hazel said that they'd always gotten special pajamas on Christmas Eve to wear the next day. Did you?"

"When we spent our Christmases with my mom's sister she would give them to me and Frannie, but not when it was just Russell and Judy. Christmas was a production, just like everything else. Dad would pick the perfect tree, and mom would decorate it to mall display standards. Our house looked like a picture from Southern Living, and our light displays were legendary."

"I remember."

"It was all about the show."

"We don't have to be about the show, babe. Though at least one year I want to turn our house into a complete winter wonderland."

"I like that.  _Our_  house."

They paused because Skye seemed to have fallen on a Christmas tree that was tall and lanky, wide in some places and skinny in others. It was the kind of tree that spent most of the holiday out of sight and usually would be sold to the poor bloke who procrastinated down to the last minute.

"I forgot to tell you: Cynthia sent five more houses that she wants us to look at next Saturday."

"Okay. Did the Fabrays open presents on Christmas Eve or Christmas Day?"

"Christmas Day, after church. Some years we were able to convince our parents to let us open up our presents  _before_ church, but after awhile we realized that that was worse than actually waiting because then we knew what we had, and we wanted to hurry up and get back home to them.

"How did you, did you celebrate Christmas with Phil?"

Santana nodded. "I don't think that we made any traditions, not really, besides the pajamas. I just followed Hazel's lead. She didn't make a big Christmas or Christmas Eve dinner because she didn't know how to cook; she grew up with a maid. And Christmas was kind of hard for her. Phil was conceived at Christmastime, and from what I understand, it wasn't under the best of conditions. Those first two years were kind of bland, anyway, since he was still a baby, and didn't really grasp the concept of Christmas. Or of wearing funny hats so he could have his picture taken. The year after that, Phil pulled the Christmas tree down on top of himself and had to be rushed to the hospital, which caused this big fight between me and Hazel, and she ended up throwing out the tree.

"Three and four were good years, though. Both years we sat around in our pajamas all day and munched on caramel chocolate popcorn and watched every single Christmas special on TV, his favorite was  _Mister Magoo's Christmas_. Oh, and last year, Phil had somehow got it into his head, probably from some little punk at his preschool, that Santa physically punished bad kids, and that he had somehow made his naughty list."

Santana shook her head from the absurdity of it, laughing at the memory. "He was so terrified that he had evoked Santa's wrath that he attached himself to our side all of Christmas Eve, even when he, or we, had to go to the bathroom. To get him to finally go to sleep, we finally had to tell him that Santa Claus was made up, and that he was just pretend because sometimes it's fun for people to play pretend. Which then resulted in me spending half of Christmas Day explaining to him the difference between telling a lie, and playing pretend. The worst thing about it is, you've met him, he wasn't being a smart aleck or anything, he just didn't get it. It was late in the afternoon before he finally gave it up and opened his presents. And then everything was great."

"Philip doesn't believe in Santa anymore?"

Santana shook her head. "Nope."

"But he still believes in superheroes?"

"And talking, partying turtles. Don't apply logic to Lopez, Quinn, I've told you this before."

"Do you think we should do the Santa thing with our kids? Is a fireplace already on our list?"

"I don't think so, but that's easy enough to remedy."

"Good, because I really, really want a fireplace."

Quinn was envisioning her and Santana spending cold nights snuggled in front of one, drinking wine, and possibly each other.

"I'll make sure Cynthia knows." Santana shrugged a shoulder, giving Quinn's earlier question some more thought. "I don't know. On one side of it, it's Christmas, and it wouldn't be Christmas without Santana Claus, and his reindeer, and the elves. I remember waiting up nights trying to hear sleigh bells, and I sat out cookies for him, and carrots for the reindeer, and I used to get so excited, and that was fun. But then there's the other side of it. First thing, you're lying to your kids. Flat out lying, especially if you continue to tell them there's a Santa once they ask if he's real. Phil was just so confused by it all, and didn't understand why it was not okay to lie, but it was okay to play pretend, but it was also not okay for him to play pretend with us.

"Then you take into consideration working mothers like Hazel. They spend all year struggling to make sure that ends meet, pinching pennies here and there and giving up small comforts so that they can buy presents for Christmas, which to me is the real spirit of Christmas, only to give away all credit to a fictional man who doesn't even know their kid. Kids spend a good portion of the year hearing that if they're good Santa will bring them what they want for Christmas, but if they're poor, or they don't get what they want, they're stuck thinking that they weren't good enough, even if they had been, and if they  _were_ bad and you give them gifts, what kind of message does that send to them? I know I might be over thinking it, but I'm not sure."

"I didn't believe in Santa past four," Quinn offered, with a shrug. "Frannie ruined it for me, and when I cried about it my dad said that I didn't need to believe in a fat man in a red suit because Christmas was about Christ and nothing else."

Santana gave her wife an extra tight hug. "Hey, whatever we do tell our kids, we will always treat them with kindness and compassion, and be respectful of their feelings." Santana smiled up at her wife in a way that she knew Quinn loved. It was sweet and endearing, and just the slightest bit sarcastic. Vaguely, Santana and Quinn both noted that apparently they were taking the ugly tree home. " _That's_  the true meaning of Christmas, Quinn Fabray!" she said in her best Linus voice.

"Lopez." Quinn gently pushed her away. "You're such an ass."

Santana turned around and swayed her hips. "Yeah, but you love it."

* * *

Santana was up early on Thanksgiving, surprisingly rising to smells coming from the kitchen. Her kitchen. She leaned on Quinn until she woke up groggily. "What time is it?"

"If I'm up, you're up. Come take a quick shower with me. I think Prudence is making us breakfast again." Quinn grunted. "Not kidding, Fablo. If you're not up in five, I'm dumping cold water on you."

"You wouldn't dare," Quinn mumbled into her pillow.

Santana hovered over Quinn. She licked Quinn on her exposed shoulder. Predictably she squealed, and Quinn bucked so hard Santana nearly fell off the bed. "You're so gross!"

"Up!"

Santana went into the bathroom, followed closely by Quinn. Even though the shower was quick, getting dressed and ready for the day wasn't. Quinn had her wearing a hokie Christmas red dress, with her hair up in a complex braided up-do, while Quinn herself was wearing a black shawl collar mid-length sweater with red stitching, and forest green leggings, her hair in the same bun that she wore it in to work. And even though she looked incredible, it didn't stop Santana from resenting how casual she looked.

"Hey, at least it's red," Quinn teased.

"You are so on my shit list right now," Santana returned.

When they got down to the kitchen, it wasn't Prudence, but a silver-haired old lady positioned in front of one of the counters, three of the four burners occupied, and Santana could smell something coming from the oven. A red faced Russell, who looked as if he his face had literally been thoroughly scrubbed by a rough rag, was in the kitchen with her, bent over a cup of coffee. "Good morning," Russell spoke. He immediately pulled down two mugs.

"Grandmother? What are you doing over here so early?"

"How else do you expect to have dinner on the table in time? Now I know you people of color operate on "colored people time", but we Fabrays like to stick to a proper time line."

Santana's jaw practically dropped open. God, the woman was just like her own abuela, it was just like being home!

Quinn waited until it looked like Santana wasn't going to lunge at the woman before Quinn walked across the room and kissed the lady on the cheek. "Good morning, Grandmother," Quinn said in that patient but deadly voice.

The woman huffed, turning away from whatever she was stirring. "Well? Is this her? Your girl?"

"She's not my  _girl_ , she's my wife, and yes. Grandmother this is Santana. Santana, my grandmother Betsy Fabray."

"You can call me Bitty."

Santana was thinking she'd rather not.

Once the smells of the kitchen began to drift upstairs, the rest of the family started to come down, miraculously already composed for the day.  _Of course_ , Santana thought to herself.  _This is a Fabray-fest after all._

Breakfast was eaten in the parlor with Judy conspicuously missing from the assembled crowd. As soon as the food was eaten, everyone branched off to their own pursuits. Prudence generously offered to do the dishes as she, Santana, and Grandmother Fabray returned to the kitchen, leaving Santana free to get started. The elder Fabray watched with shrewd eyes as Santana got started on making the baste for the turkey.

"You're not making any of that Mexican food are you?" the old woman demanded. "Because that kind of food doesn't sit well with a woman of my age, you know."

Santana took a couple of breaths. "No, I'm not making any  _Mexican_ dishes; Quinn passed along the family recipes."

"Well, good." There was silence for 10 minutes before Santana felt eyes once again on her, and her mouth opened again. "You know, you really don't look like one of them lez girls. I once knew a gay," Grandma Fabray whispered conspiratorially to Santana. "In college. She wasn't as pretty as you; they weren't back then. She had her hair all hacked off, and she was just so unkempt. How she ever expected to land herself a man looking like that, I can't imagine." The woman shook her head at the memory. "I bet she had them AIDS, too. You don't have them AIDS, do you?"

She was so going to kill her wife. "No."

"And of course they didn't get married. Gays didn't know how to stay together very long."

Santana bit down on her lip hard enough to break skin. Grandma Fabray aimed a slap on Santana's shoulder. "But good for you!"

Was she supposed to take that as approval? "Thank you."

"You two signed a pre-nup right? Can't have you running off with the Fabray money now."

The woman went back to her dishes, but it was too much to ask that she work quietly on them, however.

"I knew a Latin fellow, too. He used to cut our grass. I could never figure out why they call them Latin. He wasn't from Greece."

Grandma Fabray got momentarily called away but she promised to quickly return. She had to make a proper banana nut loaf and apple crisp after all.

As if it were timed, Judy came striding around the same time that the eldest Fabray left. She placed a comforting hand on Santana's shoulders. "If it makes you feel any better, she's like that to everybody. What do you need me to do?"

"Shoot me," Santana joked.

Judy fumbled around in the cabinets before pulling something down and pouring it into a cup. "Here."

Santana looked questioningly at the cup that her mother-in-law was offering. "I was just joking about the shoot me. I don't want to die."

"Just drink it. It's a Pimentel family secret."

She shrugged, putting the cup to her lips. It turned out to be rum with a little cinnamon and a hint of chocolate. "Pimentel?"

"It was my maiden name."

"Judy Pimentel?" Judy started to pour her another. "Are you trying to turn me into an alcoholic?" she joked.

Judy shook her head. "Just trying to take the edge off."

Santana took the second shot. "What on earth would drag you back to this after you managed to escape the Fabray? You're okay with spending the holiday with your ex?"

"I'm okay with spending the holiday with my lovely girls, and their respective partners. I don't get to say that very often."

Santana rinsed out her cup and put it in the dishwasher. "You can visit with us whenever you want, Judy. Especially once we get our house. There will always be a room for you."

"There's that Lopez charm." She laid a hand on Santana's face. "You're sweet dear. And in case I never told you, I'm glad that you and Quinn have each other. Have you two seen anything that really gets you going yet?"

"We've only looked at two houses so far. Quinn's lease is up February 15th, but she wants to move in by her birthday, and I think she's going to divorce me if we don't find a place by then."

Judy laughed, but Santana was only halfway joking. Quinn had replaced her ringtone on Santana's phone to  _Birthday Sex,_ just in case Santana had any doubts about what Quinn really wanted for the big 30. "We're just waiting to hear back about our loan, but I'm not worried about that." Quinn's credit was decent, but Santana's was close to perfect.

"What's Quinn doing right now?"

"Talking with a couple of her cousins in the living room about their respective jobs. You want me to send her in?"

Santana smiled to herself, remembering how Quinn felt about them. "Nope. Let her stay where she is."

Just like at a family affair at home, as the day progressed, more people joined her in the kitchen, mostly getting in the way as they all had a thing that was their  _thing._ Santana never heard a knock at the front door, or heard the door bell ring, but it seemed like every time she left the kitchen, there was another Fabray added to the pile. And either genes ran strong in that family, or Fabrays only married other blondes because nearly every last one of them was blonde. She had trouble navigating them, not to mention how much she stood out among them.

And they were all like the perfect Stepford family because they were all wearing dress slacks, and red, green, or paisley sweaters. They all looked like they were dressed in Sunday best.

"So is there any trick to keeping up with who everyone is?" she'd finally had to ask her mother-in-law.

Judy laughed. "Santana, are you saying we all look alike?"

She smirked in response.

When Judy left her, Santana remembered her iPod and plugged it in, effectively blocking out the rest of the world. She knew that technically she was supposed to be entertaining as well as cooking, but since it was Russell's house, she figured he could have at it, and was thankful that they hadn't yet bought a house because otherwise all of these people would have been in her and Quinn's space in Boston, and that thought was just not cool.

* * *

Santana was breathing a sigh of relief, when the weekend was finally over. She had to congratulate herself on that fact that she, and to a lesser extent Quinn, had survived their first ever Fabray holiday. Overall, it hadn't been that bad. She enjoyed decorating the tree with Skye and Frankie, Frannie was a lot nicer than she remembered, Frank Sr. managed to tell two good jokes, Judy was hilarious and a godsend, and Russell was surprisingly not terrible. He had been tolerable for most of the weekend, and was actually a little fun at some points. And the rest of the family…well, only about half were like Quinn's grandmother, and none as open about it as she was. One even told her conspiratorially that she had voted for Hillary Clinton, as if that was supposed to mean something to Santana. She would have rather dealt with her family, or their friends, but while it wasn't something that she would want to do on a daily basis, coming here was something that she didn't mind doing for her wife.

Russell and Prudence held hands as they followed the ladies to the door. When they were about to say good-bye Prudence nudged Mr. Fabray, causing him to lift a pudgy hand to his slightly balding head. "Oh, I almost forgot!"

He dashed back in the house, and came back with a small package in his hand. "This is from me and Prue."

Quinn noted it was nearly feather light when it was placed in her hand. "What is it?"

"It's an early Christmas gift from us. Open it."

Not knowing what to expect, Quinn hesitantly unwrapped the present, pushing aside a few sheets of tissue paper before she could see what was inside. It was a transparent, golden, spun glass,bell Christmas tree ornament, with silver filigree decorating the outside. Inside the bell was an image of Quinn and Santana, hands joined together, faces close together, Quinn laughing with an enraptured Santana looking at her. The picture looked like it might have been snapped possibly two seconds before, or after, they had shared a kiss. Quinn recognized the moment from their wedding day, when they had been cutting the cake. In black script along the waist of the bell were the words, 'Our first Christmas, 2022'.

It took Quinn a moment to find her voice. "This is really beautiful, Dad. Prudence." Russell seemed pleased that Santana and Quinn liked it. "Thank you."

He gave a firm nod, carefully tucked back into that Fabray mask. He gave his daughter a brief hug, and touched his hand to Santana's shoulder before they parted ways. Quinn hugged the ornament box to her. "-And the Grinch's heart grew three times that day," Santana whispered. Quinn glowered at her. "What?" Santana demanded innocently.

"Wow, babe, way to ruin a moment there."

Quinn stalked down the drive to their rental, Santana laughing at her back. "Oh come on, that was funny as hell, and you know it!"

"That was so inappropriate!"

"Oh, n _ow_  who's getting all soft, Fablo?"

"Just get in the car!"

Santana stopped right where she was, a few feet from the driver's side door. "Uh uh, babe, we had a deal. My gentlewoman's supposed to be opening all doors for me this weekend, remember?"

Quinn stopped to look at Santana and all of her audacity before jerking the door open for her wife.


	6. Merry Christmas, Baby

                “Okay, just a little bit further. Almost…ow…shit Quinn!”

                When the Santana side of the tree dipped down, Quinn quickly dashed from around the tree to where Santana was standing, holding her hand. “I’m sorry, sweetie, I’m so sorry!” Quinn took the hand that Santana was holding it, and kissed it.

                Santana jerked her arm away. “Christ, Jesus, Q, you don’t have to kiss it, I’m not a baby!” Santana hissed. 

                “You’re my baby,” Quinn returned so quickly it was like she knew Santana was going to say it. Santana rolled her eyes, but then kissed her just for good measure.

                “Why’d you drop it?”

                “I thought you had it, sorry.”

                They finished drag/tugging the tree into the apartment, and sat it up in the corner. They’d gotten a Santana sized Christmas tree. It was midway in height between Santana and Quinn, which made it the perfect height for decorating, and perfect height for Quinn’s apartment because the ceilings were around 8 ft, and once you got the tree in the stand and the ornament on the top of the tree, it would probably hit right at the ceiling.

                “Did you have a star or an angel on top of your tree?” Santana questioned. “I don’t remember.”

                “A star, for the star of Bethlehem. You guys used to have an angel right?”

                “She wasn’t an angel, she was the blessed virgin. Have you ever heard of where the tradition of putting an angel on top of the Christmas tree comes from?”

                Santana had an expectant look on her face, so Quinn decided to indulge. “No, where does the tradition come from?”

                Santana smiled brightly. “Okay, so one year, Santa was getting ready for Christmas, like he always did, but this one year nothing seemed to be going right. His main elves fell sick with the flu, and the back up elves weren’t producing the toys as well as the regular elves were, so Santa was behind on toy production. Then Mrs. Claus told Santa that her mom was coming to visit; which stressed Father Christmas out even more. But it didn’t stop there.

                “ When he went to check on the reindeer, two of them had disappeared, and three more were about to go into birth. When he went to load the slay he found out that the work order he put in months ago had never been completed and the sleigh wasn’t in the proper shape to fly. After all of the toys were put in his special magical sack, Santa discovered that there was a hole in it, and the toys fell out and went everywhere.

                “At the end of his rope, Santa went to his cupboard to pour himself a calming cup of tea with a shot of whiskey, only to find that the elves had already beaten him to it. In his frustration, he accidentally dropped the coffeepot and it broke into hundreds of little pieces all over the kitchen floor. He went to get the broom and found that mice had eaten the straw it was made of. Just then the doorbell rang and Santa cussed on his way to the door. He opened the door and there was a little angel with a great big Christmas tree. 

                “The angel said, very cheerfully, "Merry Christmas Santa. Isn't it just a lovely day? I have a beautiful tree for you. Isn't it just a lovely tree? Where would you like me to stick it?” And so began the tradition of the little angel on top of the tree.”

                Quinn little snicker grew until she was holding her stomach, laughing. Santana looked proud of herself for making Quinn laugh. Once Quinn regained her composure she kissed Santana. “You are so stupid,” she said, happily.  

                “If you were Santa, I could see it going that way.”

                “Santana Claus,” Santana joked, chuckling. She spread the tree blanket down on the spot in the corner where they had decided to put the tree. Santana worked on putting the stand together while Quinn went about sawing off the end of the tree’s trunk. When Quinn seemed to struggle with sawing through the middle Santana stopped to offer, “I read that you have to saw it because if you used a power tool to do that then you run the risk of sealing the pores with the sap, and then the tree won’t be able to feed.”

                Quinn grit her teeth. “That is very interesting honey, but while you were reading about that, did you happen to read about any tricks to cutting through this?”

                “Nope, didn’t see that,” she said unhelpfully.

                A few minutes later the bottom ring of the tree fell off. Quinn picked it up from the ground. “What do we do with this?”

                Santana shrugged her shoulders. “Knock a hole in it, run some string through it, and make a necklace?” The expression on her face changed. “Hey! We could make an ornament out of it! Like, I don’t know, incase it in glass or something, and keep it for every year after this as a memento of our first Christmas.”

                Silence followed her suggestion.

                “I like that idea.”

                “I have all the best ones,” Santana congratulated herself. “Hand me the tree?”

                Quinn lifted the tree up, and guided it into the stand. Once secured, they stood back up. “What do we think?” Quinn questioned.

                 “It needs to be rotated just a little more to the left.”

                Quinn did as Santana instructed. “I said the left!”

                “That is the left!”

                There was quiet for a moment or two. “Oh, the right then.” Quinn grunted. She made the correction.

                 “Is it perfect now?”

                Santana took half a minute to examine it. “Yea.” She turned to the tree. “Okay, little guy. I know you weren’t the biggest, and you weren’t the fullest tree out there, but it’s not about looks, it’s about heart, and whether or not you have enough of it to make it through to Christmas. Now I don’t know what anyone else has ever told you, but in order for you to go the distance it’s going to take grit, it’s going to take strength,”

                “San, you’re talking to a tree,”

                “It’s going to take determination. You have to believe. Do you believe?”

                There was silence following her pep talk because she was talking to a tree, and trees, well they don’t talk back.

                A short time later they found themselves at the Copley Place, browsing. Their stated mission: to find decorations for their apartment, specifically for the Christmas tree, though they would probably end up getting most of those at like Target or Pier 1. Really the trip was just an excuse to get out of the house, to see the Christmas decorations on the mall shops, and to be out together. “This is exciting, don’t you think it’s exciting, San?” Quinn questioned. She was a bit taken aback by how excited she was about Christmas this year.

                “I never knew that you liked Christmas so much.”

                Normally, she didn’t. Normally she couldn’t make it through the season without getting depressed. Normally, she saw all the happy faces, and excited peals of laughter from the kids, and the lovesick couples, and she found every excuse to bury herself in her work and avoid the crowds and the people in her life. “This is our first Christmas, together; our first married Christmas!”

Santana didn’t hide the smile. “What gives, Q? I’m usually the one saying stuff like that.”

Quinn gave her a teasing pat on the arm. “Hey don’t tease me for being excited about being with you and getting to do all of these new things with you. Don’t you think it’s exciting?” Quinn questioned. “We’re starting our very own traditions right now. I mean nothing says I’m an adult like celebrating Christmas the way you want to.”

                Santana gave her ‘Quinn’ smile. “Yeah, babe, it’s pretty cool. So what are our traditions going to be?”

                Quinn gave a shrug, practically glowing. “I don’t know. I liked going out to getting our tree at Thanksgiving, so if we’re able to do that, every year, I want to do that.”

                They turned into the Hallmark store and were instantly overwhelmed. Quinn looked at the endless ornaments in front of them. There were so many to choose from, and some of them were obviously just marketing; they didn’t have anything to do with Christmas. Despite all of the commercials and advertising saying otherwise, it all seemed impersonal.

                “Anything catching your eye?” Quinn questioned.

                Santana shook her head. “I don’t like all of this stuff. I liked your dad’s ornament.”

                “That was really nice. And surprisingly thoughtful. I bet Prudence was mostly behind it.”

                “Oh come on, give him a little credit, babe.”

                “I didn’t say anything bad, I was just saying that Prudence was probably the mastermind behind it. And anyway, it doesn’t matter who came up with it, because it was perfect, and beautiful, and this stuff just isn’t it. I don’t want to put it on our tree.”

                “You don’t want to buy anything?”

                “I don’t want our tree to look like the kind I had growing up.”

                Santana casually shrugged. “I don’t ever remember my parents buying any Christmas ornaments. I mean maybe we bought a piece here or there, fresh candy canes every year, but most of our Christmas tree ornaments were the ones that we made at school, or at home with my mami or my abuela. They all meant something. So how about we don’t worry about the ornaments, and just tell all our friends and family that instead of gifts for Christmas we want them to give us ornaments.”

                “That’s not that bad of an idea.”

                “I was halfway kidding.”

                “Still. You know if you ever actually give Rachel permission to go over the top, she will rise to the occasion.”

                They ended up buying non ornamental decorations for their tree, garland, holly, tinsel, and two boxes of multicolored balls. “Did we decide on whether we wanted an angel or a star?”

                “Did we discuss that?”

                “No.”

                “Oh, well then we didn’t decide,” Santana  concluded.  

                On their way through the mall they passed by the Salvation Army tree, and Quinn knew what Santana was going to say before she even turned towards Quinn and said, “We should adopt an angel.”

                Quinn didn’t even have to think about it though she was a bit surprised that Santana wanted to do it. She nodded in agreement. “We should.”

                Santana’s face lit up instantly. “Really?”

                “Yes. Girl or boy.”

                “Girl,” was said without any hesitation.

                “Do you want to do that today?”

                Santana shrugged. “Why not? We don’t have anything else to do today, do we?”

                Quinn shook her head. So they went and adopted their angel, and spent the rest of the afternoon shopping for her. While they were looking through clothes and shoes for this unknown girl, Quinn took a moment to wonder how her daughter celebrated Christmases. She never really spent time thinking about it. She thought about Beth all the time, but she never thought about the things that made her up. She had gotten a brief glimpse of her daughter at the wedding, and that hadn’t been nearly long enough, but now doing this shopping for this random nine year old girl that she never met, and never would meet, she wondered about those individual things that made up her daughter. How did she celebrate Christmas, what traditions did she and Shelby have together? What things did she like, did she like to do? What did she want for Christmas this year?

                She took a brief break from shopping and Santana and found a corner to herself. After standing in the same spot for a few minutes with her phone in her hand, she highlighted Shelby’s number, and gave her a call. Shelby had Quinn’s contact information in case any medical emergency popped up and Shelby needed to quiz her on family history, or something, and Quinn had had Shelby’s number just sitting in her phone for years. Until today, she never thought to actually call her, and she was surprised when Shelby actually picked up.

                “Hey, Quinn, is something the matter?”

                “No,” Quinn said quickly, understanding why Shelby would jump to that conclusion. “Nothing’s wrong, Shelby. San and I are doing the Salvation Army angel tree, and I was just thinking about Beth. Would it be alright…can I get her something for Christmas?”

                There was quiet on the line for a few moments. Once Shelby told Beth that she was adopted, things had kind of been up in the air. There was probably the option of Quinn visiting from time to time, she knew Puck did, but Quinn had never asked, and Shelby had never offered. “Of course you can, Quinn,” Shelby responded. “I think she’d really like that.”

                “Do you…do you know what she would like?”

                “She collects guitar straps. Unique ones. If you could find one she would think you were pretty awesome, and if you made one yourself she’d probably think you were the coolest person on the planet.”

                “Guitar straps. She plays the guitar?” This was news. Pretty much everything was news. She didn’t know the child that she gave birth to.

                “No. She plays the drums. She just likes to collect them.”

                Quinn hesitated before she asked, “Does she see still see Puck?”

                “Every so often. He sends her gifts for Chanukah.”

                “Oh, okay. Well, thanks Shelby.”

                “Any time, thank you for calling Quinn.”

                Santana gave her a speculative look when she came back. “I called Shelby. I wanted to send Beth something for Christmas this year.”

                “Oh.” If Santana was surprised by the statement, she didn’t say anything. “What are you going to get her?”

                “Shelby said that she would think I was the ‘coolest person on the planet’ if I made her a guitar strap.”

                “Don’t use air quotes, babe, no one likes a person who does air quotes.”

                “Did you hear what I said?”

                “Beth plays the guitar?”

                “That’s the first thing I asked, but no. She plays the drums. Apparently she just wears the straps, or collects them, I don’t know.”

                “That’s pretty bad ass. You made yourself one cool kid. You sure she has your genes?”

                “You know you’re not half as funny as you think you are, right?”

                “Bitch, I am hilarious. We should make her an ornament, too.”

                “What’s with you and this sudden ornament kick that you’re on?”

                “I’m not on a kick! We’re buying a house, money is tight, and making things means that you’re spending time thinking about someone. And she’s a rocker chick, so we can like make her an ornament from a guitar pick, or earrings. We should make her pick earrings! I’m so doing that, and I don’t even care if you put your name on the gift. And I’m making something for our angel, too. It’s decided.”

                And so it was.

* * *

 

                Cynthia gave them a very friendly smile when Quinn and Santana got out of the car. “Afternoon, ladies,” she greeted them. Quinn reached for Santana’s hand and Santana turned it over readily.

                “Afternoon, Ms. Lyles. How are you?”

                “Very good, and I think this is one that you two will really enjoy. It’s a four bedroom, 2 baths, 2,000 sq. ft home, $200,000 under your top end, and it’s less than 25 minutes away from your work.”

                “By a minute,” Santana mumbled.

                Their gazes turned towards the house. “First thoughts?”

                “It’s not a Victorian.”

                “No,” Cynthia agreed, but wait until you see the inside.”

                Quinn gave her wife a look mentally pleading for Santana to give it a chance before she immediately dismissed the house, though she could tell that Santana was already not impressed.

                “Neighbors are pretty close, to-”

                “But it comes with a garage, and you have ample back yard.”

                They walked around to the back of the house. “There’s no fence in the backyard. Not even a little white picket one.”

                They went back around front and into the house. “If you notice there’s hardwood floors throughout the entire lower half of the house, just like you wanted, and bay windows.”

                “We could build a little bench to put underneath the window, and have a place to read.”

                Cynthia smiled at the first positive thing Santana said about the house, the first indication that she could see herself in the space. The first bedroom they went to was on the first floor, and it too had hardwood floors. “We can put carpet down,” Quinn said before Santana could complain about it. To be honest she had pretty much seen as much of the house as she needed to, but since she had instructed Santana to keep an open mind she needed to, too.

                “When was the house built?”

                “1930.”

                They did a quick walk through the rest of the house. They never made it to the bathroom, but judging by how outdated the kitchen was, Quinn was certain they weren’t missing anything. When they finished with all they wanted to see with this house, they went to look at another house in the same neighborhood. 

                It was another 4 bedroom, 2 bath house, $60,000 more than the first house, with about the same amount of square footage. It wasn’t a Victorian either, but it wasn’t box-like like the house had been.

                “One car lane,” Santana noted.

                “Yes, but the drive is long enough to fit two cars.”

                The back yard was comparable in size to the last one, though it had a fence up, and the neighbors didn’t seem so close in.

                Things only got better when they made it inside the house.

                “I like the door,” Santana said randomly as they walked through it.

                Quinn agreed. Like the other house the floors were hardwood, and it came equipped with, “Oooh, there’s our fireplace baby,” Santana said excitedly. “Not a fan of that chandelier, though.” 

                “We can easily replace fixtures. It can be our weekend project.”

                Santana turned towards Cynthia. “Is the fireplace wood burning or gas?”

                “Gas, but the original fireplace is right behind the front, so it wouldn’t take much effort to restore it.”

                Quinn and Santana exchanged looks at that. Quinn’s eyes said she wouldn’t mind the project.

                “Babe, look at this kitchen!”

                The kitchen wasn’t brand new, but it had been updated since the house had been built, and all of the appliances were new.

                “Do the appliances come with the house or are they going with the owner?”

                “They stay.”

                “I’m not sure how I feel about the island table. We could probably knock this wall down to have a more open floor plan.”

                The ground floor bathroom was nothing to write home about. There was enough room to renovate, and even though Quinn would have liked it on the top floor (because it meant that everyone on the top floor would be sharing the one bath), so far she was happy with what she was seeing, and Santana seemed to like the house as well.

                “This is a nice little window,” Santana remarked as they walked past a window in the middle of the stairwell on the way up to the second floor.

                 The master bedroom had its own little patio that was big enough for them to put two chairs an end table, and a coffee table out there. “This is new,” Cynthia informed them as they walked the space.

                “I like this,” Quinn said.

                The fourth bedroom was on the third level. It was probably the largest of the bedrooms, and though it was a nice space, it was awkward. The stairs to get to it were narrow, you could tell it had obviously once been an attic, and one side had dormer windows while on the other side the wall extended normally. Although they could look into adding a bath, there otherwise wasn’t one on this floor, and both Quinn and Santana agreed that if they had children they wouldn’t feel comfortable using this room as their own, nor would they be able to use it as a kids playroom when the kids were young.

                “It could always be a guest bedroom,” Santana suggested.

                Like the master bedroom on the second level, it also came with a balcony, a little bigger than the one downstairs. There was also a deck right off the kitchen, a recent add-on, they were informed.

                “I really like this one,” Quinn said at the car. “It needs some work, not too much, though.”

                “I liked it too,” Santana agreed.

                They looked at one more house before they called it the day. It was in the same neighborhood as the other two, and seemed to be an exact midpoint between them. It didn’t wow either of them, so it, like the first house, went on their not interested list.

* * *

 

                Santana kicked aside a stack of interior design magazines that Quinn had lying out on the table. Quinn had been on a decorating kick for a while now, but now that the New Year was fast approaching, she had become really serious about it. Obsessed. The DVR was set to record every song on HGTV, and she had this program downloaded on her computer that allowed her to decorate fake rooms. Last time Santana checked, she had 10 rooms saved in her project box.

                Santana’s head jerked up when the front door opened. “Hey, babe,” she called automatically. She heard the rustling of bags, which caused her to look towards the door. “What’s all that,” Santana demanded, seeing her wife struggle to get through the front door.

                “A little help,” Quinn grunted.

                Santana rolled her eyes, but she jumped up anyway, helping Quinn rustle the bags into the apartment. “Damn it, Quinn! We’re trying to get rid of shit, not bring more into the fold.”

                “It was on sale!” Quinn protested. Santana rolled her eyes. “No, really, sweetie, it was a really good sale.”

                “Please tell me you didn’t charge anything!”

                Quinn placed a greeting kiss to her wife’s lips. “You mean on the cards that you cut up?”

                “No, I mean on the one you called Amex about and told them that you lost.”

Quinn had the decency to look guilty. “You’re not supposed to know about that.”

                “Did you forget that we’re trying to buy a house?”

                “Everybody needs at least one credit card.”

                “No, that’s what credit card companies try to convince you of so they can charge you interest charges. No one _needs_ a credit card. We’ve got our checking account, and our debit card, and if we don’t have the money to cover whatever you’re buying, then we don’t need it. And the last thing we need two months before we move is more shit!”

                Quinn frowned. “You’re no fun when you’re responsible.”

                “My job requires it.” Credit was a veritable no-no in her world; she could actually get fired if she a) had too much debt or b) her credit score dropped too low. Right now it was as close to perfect as possible, because she knew exactly what marked you up and down in the credit world, and so she acted accordingly. It was easy to ace a test if you knew what the answers were. “Do you know what’s one of the biggest reasons people get involved in organized crime? Debt.” Quinn huffed. “And you know what one of the leading causes of divorce is? Finances. If we get divorced I want it to be because we can’t stand each other anymore, not because you can’t avoid a sale.” 

                “Relax; I used the debit card, and it really was a good sale, I promise.”

                “Still. From here on out, the only thing that is coming in this apartment for us until we move are groceries. And I’m restricting eating out to two times a week and that includes lunches!”

                Quinn rolled her eyes and puffed out her cheeks in a very Santana way.

                “What would you rather have,” Santana questioned reasonably, “a nice house, or greasy food?”

                “I don’t like you right now,” Quinn said, walking away.

                “Well, I still love you, bitch!” Santana called after her.                            

                When Quinn came back after dropping the bags in their bedroom, she pushed Santana’s legs off of the couch from where she had started to stretch out, and sat down beside her. Santana leaned up to give the woman a kiss. “How was your day?”

                “Over. But let me show you what I bought.”

                Quinn handed over the item that she had kept out, sitting the box in Santana’s lap. “Open it,” Quinn instructed.

                Santana did, pulling the ornament from the box that Quinn had dropped in her lap. “I found an angel whose wings form a star. That way we have both, and look-” she took the Star/Angel from Santana to plug it into the outlet. “It lights up! She kind of looks like you, too.”

                “Are you saying I’m an angel, Fablo?”

                “Only the fallen kind.”

                Santana toyed with it. “I love it.”

                “I figured you would. Do you want the honors of putting it on the tree, or do you want me to do it?”

                “I think you should do it, babe, because you found it.”

                Quinn unplugged the star/angel, and put it on top of the Christmas tree.

                “Me too.”

                Quinn plugged the angel into the lights, and they stood back to admire the tree. “I think it looks good,” Santana decided. She started to lean back down on the couch, but Quinn stopped her. “Hey, don’t get too comfortable, I want us to get some packing done today.”

                “Really, babe? I just got home like an hour ago, tops!”

                “So you need something to get your energy up, and exercises gives you endorphins.”

                “It’s Christmas!”

                “It’s not Christmas until Sunday. The house has to be spotless for Christmas anyway, so we might as well get to it now.”

                “Babe, we haven’t even put down an offer yet, why are we packing?”

                “Because even if we don’t find a house by my birthday, we will still be out of this apartment by February 15th. I’ve already cleared it with Mercedes; she says we can stay with her as long as we need to, so no matter what we will be out of here. We need to be packing soon; I don’t want to wait until the last minute.”

                Quinn was sure that threatening to move in with their friends, even if it was temporary, was sure to give Santana an added incentive to find them a new residence.

                “Santana!” Quinn said sharply when Santana didn’t seem inclined to move from her position.

                Santana held her hands up. “Calm your tits. I’m up.” She climbed to her feet.  “Though I think that you’re just doing this because I yelled at you for shopping.”

                Quinn rolled her eyes in response. “Oh, hey, I forgot to mention. You have a black ball gown, right?”

                “Yeah…why?”

                “Our office party is on the 23rd.”

                “And it’s black tie?”

                “No, but you look hot in your little black dresses and I want to make everyone jealous.”

                “Is that you’re way of asking me if I will escort you to your office party?”

                Santana snorted. “I’m not asking, anything, I’m telling you.”

                “You’re telling me?”

                Santana nodded. “Two words babe: Fabray Thanksgiving.”

                Quinn decided not to pose an argument. “Okay, fine,” Quinn said.

                “Damn right,” Santana agreed.

                ”But I’m curious, San. Did you purposely wait to tell me about your office party jus so you could pull that card?”

                “You know me so well, babe.”

* * *

 

                Quinn and Cynthia had both been waiting for 15 minutes by the time Santana arrived on scene, out of breath, but looking very commanding in her navy blue business suit. “Okay, I’m here, and I’m missing lunch, so this better be good.”

                Quinn quirked an eyebrow. “Did you run here?”

                “Not all the way,” she answered. “I couldn’t find cab.”Santana looked at the squat red house that had the ‘For Sale’ sign on it. “Wait, is this it?”

                “It’s a Victorian,” Cynthia said optimistically.

                “It’s a postage stamp.”

                Quinn nudged her. 

                “Sorry,” Santana mumbled.”But I mean, this doesn’t even have any room for us to grow into.”

                “Can we please just look?”

                “Fine.” She waved at Cynthia to lead on.

                “Okay, so like I said, it’s a Victorian, and it’s centrally located. I believe it’s a 10 minute drive from where you work.” She retrieved the key from the lock box, and showed them inside. “It’s 3 bedrooms, 1 and a ½ bath, 1700 sqft.” Santana opened her mouth, but didn’t say anything. “The kitchen was fully renovated five years ago, and the wall between the living room and kitchen was taken down to open up the space.”

                Santana nodded along as Cynthia talked. Quinn could tell, though, that she had clearly already checked out. The house really was small, and unfortunately it had too much of what they didn’t want. There was no room for a library, or even a large office, and the master was just kind of there. That there were hardwoods throughout the whole house wouldn’t have been a problem, if there wasn’t already so much to dislike. The few  redeeming points were that it was so close to work, and to everything else, that the basement was finished, and had been cold finished for a possible third bathroom, and that there was a deck that led to a surprisingly spacious, and private back yard. Really, the back yard was the selling point for the whole house. It even had several old trees like Quinn wanted, and it was fenced in.

                “Please just say you’ll leave this as a consideration,” Quinn pleaded as they said their good-bye’s to the realtor for the day.

                “It’s the same price as the house in East, and it’s 900 sq ft. smaller.”

                “I’m just asking you to leave it as a _consideration,”_ Quinn reiterated.

                “Okay. Then I will consider it.”

                They had the time and they were close enough to their respective jobs to have lunch together before they had to be back at work. “Will you be home early?” Quinn questioned as they were saying good-bye.

                “Can’t. I’ll be home pretty late, actually. You know I’m all tied up because of this book launch.”

                “Oh, right,” Quinn pouted. “Okay, well, I’ll see you when I get home, then?”

                “Yeah, babe, and if I’m not in before you go to bed I’ll wake you up, okay?”

                They kissed good-bye.

                Quinn didn’t see much of her wife in the days leading up to the Christmas holiday. Wednesday was Quinn’s last day of going into the office, and on Thursday, Judy flew in, so she and Quinn spent the time doing some last minute shopping, and looking at a few houses, Quinn recording the tours so that Santana could later go back and look at them as well. Out of the six that they looked at together, one stood out: a green and orange 1910 Victorian. It was essentially move in ready, 4 bedrooms, 4 and a ½ baths, with five fireplaces, including one in the master bedroom. Even the kitchen had been renovated, and they had a porch. Judy was even already picking out her room. Santana didn’t have time to physically go look at it until after the New Year, but since it had already been on the market for over a hundred days, Quinn wasn’t too worried about someone snatching it up in that time frame.

                “I thought the gazebo was a nice little touch,” Judy said once they concluded the tour.

                Quinn laughed.  “I thought so too. I can’t imagine what we could possibly do on it, but now that I’ve seen it, I just want it.”

                Judy smiled indulgently. “Do you think that Santana’s going to like it?”

                “She’s going to love the color, and the fact that it’s a Victorian. Plus the library. I think she might really like this one. There was one other that’s sitting pretty high on our list, only the bedroom lay out is kind of weird.”

                Judy reached for her daughter’s hand, and held on to it. “How are you doing, sweetheart? You look good.”

                Quinn turned her face slightly towards her mother. “Good?”

                “Happy, sweetie.  You look very happy.”

                “I am,” Quinn responded. “She makes me…were you…,” She hesitated, but then decided to ask anyway. “Were you ever this happy with dad?”

                Judy shook her head. “Never. Russell and I were only ever companions.”

                A hand came up to smooth down Quinn’s locks. She was startled when her mom kissed her on the top of her head. “It’s okay that she makes you happy, sweetie. Enjoy it.”

                Quinn smiled. “I am.”

                Quinn and Judy spent the night catching up, and the night before Christmas Eve she promised that she could entertain herself while Santana and Quinn went to Santana’s office party. Santana had come home literally just to change into her dress, and then she was whisking them downtown to 3 Center Plaza. As far as Quinn was concerned, an office party was an office party. She didn’t expect them to be good, or fun, just a way to do networking after hours under the guise of gaudy decorations and cheap alcohol. Santana’s coworkers differed from Quinn’s in that Santana’s coworkers were the sort who went to liberal arts colleges and had MFAs, and talked more about stylistic creativity and changing the world through art, instead of corporate hedge funds and mergers. If Quinn was ever looking for stock tips she was always sure to get those at one of her office parties. The Little Brown crowd was more of what she would have gone to school with, if she had had the courage to stick with the degree that she wanted.

                Santana and Quinn had pretty much just walked through the door, when a woman who Quinn knew to be Paulianne solely from the many times that her wife had described her, cornered them. If she thought that Santana was looking tired lately, it was nothing compared to this other woman.  

                “Santana! You’re back.” She gave a sweeping glance over Quinn. “This must be your Gwen.”

                “Quinn, yes.”

                “She’s said some wonderful things about you. You’re a beautiful girl, Gwen, and you have a lovely son. Santana, can I borrow you for a bit?”

                Santana turned her back on her boss, making eye contact with her wife. “Babe, will you be okay by yourself for a little bit?” Santana questioned. “I thought I saw Dex at the bar, and Nichols will be somewhere in the thick of it.” Quinn nodded. She knew how to mingle. She’d grown up making nothing conversation with important people. Santana touched their foreheads together. “I’ll be back soon. Promise.”     

                 As soon as Santana slipped away, Quinn meandered towards the main group, focusing her attention on Nichols, because she recognized him. He was talking with two other people when she walked up, a chubby, amiable man with weather man hair, and a nicely dressed woman who seemed to be very evenly matched with him. “Hi Nichols!” Quinn greeted the man warmly.

                Nichols gave her a one-armed hug and left his hand resting across her shoulders. “Quinn, nice to see you again! Where’s Santana?”

                “She got called upstairs,” Quinn explained. Nichols looked about to introduce her to rest of their companions, but was beat to it by the other guy. “Hey, you’re Quinn,” he blurted out, and then for some reason he turned bright red.

                “Excuse me?” Quinn said, kindly.

                “Santana’s wife. Wow, you’re even prettier in person. I’m Thom Broncheau.” She hesitantly shook his hand. “This is my wife, Nan.”

                This seemed the extent of his ability to hold a conversation, and he quickly excused the two of them. “What’s that about? Did I mistakenly wear a party-goer repellent or something?” Quinn questioned at the man’s departure.  Nichols seemed a bit taken aback himself. “I couldn’t tell you,” he said in response.

                Quinn passed another 30 minutes mostly in Nichols company before Santana came back to join them. She pressed a kiss to Quinn’s cheek. “Sorry, babe,” she whispered. “Things are still kind of,” she waved her hands in a kind of nonsensical way, “about the release. I did get a look over that stills that you sent me though. The Victorian was nice. Has everyone been nice to you here?”

                “Very nice,” Quinn replied. “A guy named Tom…? Kind of blushed and then took off. Do you know anything about that?”

                Santana smiled and shook her head. “I work with some weird people, babe. Has Dex come over?”

                “No, I haven’t seen him actually.”

                “Lucky for you.”

                “I thought you liked Dex.”

                Santana rolled her eyes. “No one really likes Dex; they just tolerate him until he disappears. Come on, there’s some people I want you to meet…including the girl that I’m inviting to our threesome. Ow…just kidding babe! Geez, it was just a joke!”    

                On Christmas Eve, Santana was up and gone early. At 6:15, when Quinn was just getting up, Santana was heading for the door pausing, like she normally did on early mornings, to give Quinn a kiss before she walked out of the door. “Don’t be home too late,” Quinn requested.

                “I’ll try my best,” Santana fired over her shoulder before walking out of the room. Quinn got dressed in a warm sweater and corduroy pant combination. Russell and Prudence would be getting there at 10, and the Lopezes would be arriving on a flight two hours later. Other than pick up the parents, Quinn didn’t have much to do with her day. She’d sent out all her Christmas cards, her gift to Beth would be arriving this afternoon, everything was gift wrapped, and placed under the tree. She had done all of her shopping, food for tomorrow was already purchased. They had decided that instead of worrying over a big Christmas dinner, Christmas breakfast would be _their_ thing, their tradition, so Quinn didn’t have to worry about cooking anything tonight.   

                As far as she knew, she didn’t have anything she had to do, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something she _should_ be doing. She wished that Santana wasn’t working because then they could be spending the day watching their favorite Christmas movies.

                Quinn arrived at Logan a half hour before Russell and Prudence. She passed the time by sending Santana texts, and playing elf bowling on her phone. She chanced a glance up, and made her father and his wife in the crowd. Every time Quinn saw her dad, she had to take a moment to reset herself, to reconcile the Russell she’d grown up knowing, and the Russell he was now trying to be. Prudence was helping with that a lot. She was just ‘adult’ enough to put things into perspective, and friendly enough to assuage tense situations. She just seemed to do things, without hesitation. She was assertive without being aggressive, and amicable, pleasant, but not a push-over. While Quinn and Russell were still figuring out how to act around each other, she just acted and worried about things later.

                Prudence surged forward with a hug, and Russell quickly followed suit. “Good to see you again, Quinn. Thanks for inviting us.”   

                Quinn spent the entire afternoon with the parents, mostly watching her and Santana’s families blend in with each other. It was interesting to watching the five of them blending into each other’s lives, but mostly she missed her wife and wished that she was here with them.    

                Santana came shrugging home a few minutes after the rents had gone back to their hotels for the night. “Babe?” Santana called out into the apartment. “Are you still awake? I didn’t miss them did I?”

                Quinn met her near the door. She nodded. “Yes, but they’ll be here first thing in the morning for breakfast. How was the launch?”

                Santana yawned and reached for Quinn in the same gesture. “The title is live and that’s all that matters. That and I don’t have to be back at work until next year. I’m bummed that I missed my parents, though.” She buried her head in the crook of Quinn’s neck. “And you, I really missed you. Are you really tired, babe? Can we watch Elf before we go to bed?”

                Quinn yawned, too, but nodded. “Sure, San.”

                In return Santana smiled back. Quinn found the movie while Santana changed and got a blanket for the two of them. Quinn was certain she’d be asleep before they were even halfway through the movie, but if San wanted to watch the movie, they were going to watch it.

                She couldn’t say how far into the movie she got before she passed out, but when she opened her eyes her back was a little achy, and the credits were on the screen. She was also alone on the couch. 

                 “Santana?” She started to sit up, but paused at the sound of a noise coming from across the room. “Santana?”

                There was that noise again, a rustling, coming from the same direction as the Christmas tree. Quinn got a glimpse of heavy boots, a red cap, and a sack. Quinn stood up and made her way closer to the tree. “Santa?”

                Music suddenly filled the apartment. Santana stepped out fully from behind the tree wearing the world’s skimpiest elf/Mrs. Clause outfit, with a bow attached jauntily on her head. Words made their way over to her. “ _Santa baby, just slip a Sable under the tree for me; been an awful good girl, Santa baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight.”_

                With a broad smile Santana guided Quinn back down on the couch, while she continued to sing. “ _Santa baby, a '54 convertible too, light blue; I'll wait up for you, dear; Santa baby. So hurry down the chimney tonight.”_

                Quinn founded herself straddled by her wife, who didn’t break stride as she continued her song and dance. When Quinn placed her hand on Santana’s hips, Santana smiled and shook her head, gently removing them. “ _Santa honey, one little thing I really need...The deed... to a house that’s just mine,”_ Santana winked, “ _Santa baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight.”_  
                Santana finished the song, singing the words only a few inches away from Quinn’s lips. “Merry Christmas, baby.”

                “Merry Christmas, Santana.”

* * *

                Somehow the two of them ended up falling asleep together underneath the plugged in Christmas tree. It had come together rather nicely. They had managed to resist buying any other ornaments than the colored balls, and their friends had really come through. Russell’s bell ornament had now been joined by several others. There was now a gold star from Rachel, an Anderson Family decorated ball with Kurt, Blaine, Aubrey and Trayce’s picture on it, a ballerina dancing on top of a jellyfish that was from Brittany and Tamara, Santana and Quinn’s ‘Baby’s First Christmas’ ornament sent to them by Judy and Maribel, abuela had sent them a nativity scene, Judy’s ornament had been a lamb, an airman with a Christmas hat was Puck’s gift. And Sam had given them an ornament that was nothing but a sign that said ‘Gone Fishing’. Santana had also gotten half a dozen handmade ornaments mostly of the Popsicle framed picture variety from some of the kids at the Children’s Hospital.

                 The sleeping pair was awakened by the simultaneous sounds of knocking on the door and Santana’s cell phone going off. They scrambled from their position to go put something less revealing on before answering the door to let in their family.

                They waited until after breakfast, when everyone was stuffed and nursing full bellies, to exchange gifts. When it came to their turn, Pedro mimed handing a box to Santana. Santana pretended to turn the invisible box over in her hands. “Um…thanks daddy. You shouldn’t have?”

                Pedro laughed. “So, we meant to wrap up your gift, but we couldn’t figure out how to wrap it up, so we’ll just tell you what it is. Mami and I decided to cover the closing cost for your house, when you find it, and if it turns out that the seller is going to cover it, then you can use the money to buy yourself a nice housewarming gift.”

                Santana looked back and forth between her parents as if expecting him to be joking. “Really, dad?”

                Maribel and Pedro nodded.

                “Thank you papa. Mami.”

                “Thank you so much, Mr. Lopez!” Quinn trailed behind her.

                “It’s Pedro or dad, none of that Mr. Lopez crap. You can’t call me that when we share the same last name.”

                “Sorry, dad, thank you! Thank you, mami.”

                “It’s just something small we thought we would do for our ladies.”

                Both Santana and Quinn got up to hug the elder Lopezes and Santana remained cuddled up to her mom even after they broke back apart. 

                After all gifts had been exchanged, Santana and Pedro gave a rendition of _Silent Night_ that brought tears to everyone’s eyes. Prudence, who had never heard Santana sing before, was blown away.  They played board games, and watched movies, and knocked back mugs of Russell’s coco. Right as stomachs were grumbling, Mercedes family showed up, minus Junior, but with his wife and Mercedes’ niece and nephew. Mercedes brought with her a special gift that she and Santana had been working on. The duo had recorded all of Sam and Quinn’s favorite Christmas songs and made a Christmas album. They had made both a CD for everyone, and converted the music to digital media files so you could put them on your iPod or any MP3 player.

                Quinn gave a glance about at everyone present, and was slightly saddened by the people who were missing. “Next year we should all agree to spend Christmas in Lima so that way we can all get together in the same place, at the same time. See all our family and friends.”

                The CD was played, and while everyone was listening to the duets, Quinn excused herself when an unknown phone number flashed across her screen. “Hello?” Her voice sounded professional, and stiff, the way it did whenever she answered an unknown call.

                “Quinn?”

                Quinn recognized the voice, and then she really recognized it. “Beth?”

                “Yeah. I can’t talk; we’re sitting down to dinner, but I wanted to call you really quick to say that you’re present was so amazingly incredible, and I’m going to wear it on my first day back from school. Thank you and Santana so very much!”

                “Er…you _liked_ it?”

                “I loved it! You guys rock! I have to go, though, Bye!”

                “Bye sweetie,” she said. When she knew the line was dead, she added, “I love you, baby.”

                She stood there for a second, stunned, but then a smile spread across her face. _My daughter thinks I rock!_ Santana gave her a look when she rejoined her family, but Quinn just flashed her an _I’ll tell you later_ look, and she nodded.

                Quinn watched fondly as she and Santana saw their moms, and dads, and the Jones’ from the apartment at the end of the night. She had a feeling that was strange, and felt a lot like contentment. She didn’t want to think too much about it because there was that part of her that still felt (and might always will) that anytime there was a good thing going on in her life, something would come about to ruin it, but the latter half of this year had been so full of good that Quinn didn’t know what to do about it. Not even a year ago, she had spent Christmas alone, avoiding home and family, and pretending she wasn’t lonely.  Mercedes had gone home to Lima for Christmas so she couldn’t spend it with her, she and Brittany had been broken, Rachel had spent Christmas in London, and she was too full of pride to call Santana on Christmas because that would feel too much like wanting her. Life had change so drastically, and so quickly. She and Santana had only been married for half of a year, but that half of a year had been so much better than the last four years of her life. If she was being really honest, it had been better than probably every year of her life. So Quinn was allowing herself the indulgence of being happy and allowing herself the belief that things would continue to be that way.  

                Right before they retired to their bedroom for the night, Quinn stopped her wife. “I have one more gift for you.”

                Santana stopped expectantly, her eyes darting over Quinn’s body before she smiled, sneakily. “What’s that?”

                “Wait here.”

                Quinn went into their bedroom ahead of her and came out with the box that Mercedes had brought over for her when they had come over earlier. The expression in Santana’s eyes changed when she saw the nicely wrapped gift. “I thought we said that we were going to limit what we spent because of the house,” Santana protested.

                “I didn’t spend money, I bartered for this.”

                Santana gave her a suspicious look, but she took the gift anyway, and started to unwrap it. Quinn watched her intently as Santana’s brow went from furrowed in confused anticipation, to annoyed as she tried to rip tape off that seemed unyielding, to expectant when she finally got the box freed, to curious when she was met with a plain brown box. She even shook the box as if it would give her some sort of clue. The best expression, though, was when she finally opened the box and saw the gift inside. It went from what is it, to ‘what the hell’, ‘to is this what I think it is’, to ‘Oh my God’, to ‘I love this woman’. Which was what Quinn was going for. Her eyes bugged out as she individually took the items from the box.  

                “This must have cost a fortune for you to get this!” Santana exclaimed, protested. “Quinn!” but she was hugging her wife fiercely. “Baby…you got this for me?”

                “Just for you,” Quinn assured her.

                “How much did this cost?”

                “I told you, I bartered.”

                “With who?”

                “Frank Hancock. He said it was sitting in the attic collecting dust and I could have it we agreed to watch the kids on their anniversary.”

                “Baby,” Santana said again.

                It was an original Nintendo system. But not just the system, it was the game system, the running pad, the color cartridge, _Track Meet_ , _Duck Hunters_ _with_ the iconic orange gun, _Mario Brothers_ , and _Legends of Zelda_.

                “You’re so awesome.”

                Quinn nodded. “Yep.”

                “Are you going to play with me?”

                “I will, and I look forward to kicking your ass, but I just want to warn you upfront that we have to get a converter for it because it won’t hook up to our TV.”

                “Oh, that’s no problem.”

                “You already have a converter?”

                Santana shook her head. “I’ve got guys.”

                “You’ve got guys?”

                “Tech guys, babe, and one total bad ass tech chick. Best in the country. Dude, wait till I tell Puck, he’s going to be jealous as hell!” Santana looked as if she was going to rush off to go call him up but he paused to give Quinn another kiss. “Love you, baby.”

                “Love you, too,” Quinn said to Santana’s back. She turned to go back into the living room to clean up the leftover mess, and was stopped by the feel of Santana pulling her into her.

                “Please tell me that you’re not going to Fabray the living room when your body is requested in your bed.”

                “I thought you were going to go talk to Puck?”

                “I was actually thinking more along the lines of thanking you. All night long.”

                “How are you going to do that?”

                “Well first, I’m going to strip you down. Then I’m going to place kisses all along your neck and shoulders, slooowly working you up until your hips start to move. Then I’m going to throw you on the bed, and tie you down, so that you’re completely at my mercy. And then I would take my time. Kissing over every inch of this skin,” Santana trailed her finger along Quinn’s collar bone. “Then I’m going to slowly kiss down to your stomach, slowly kissing downwards until your so wet and begging for it, and then I’m going to work you up with just my lips and my tongue, and even after I make you come, and make you come, and make you come, I still won’t stop, not until you pass out.”

                “Really?” 

                “Well...no, but I’m going to cuddle the shit out of you.”

                Quinn grunted. “I swear, San, we better be putting down an offer on the next house we go to look at! And just so you know, I’m writing all this shit down!”

                “I hope so,” Santana whispered seductively, and Quinn wondered how a person who apparently seemed to be very good at withholding could still sound so damn sexy about it.

* * *

                The best part about Christmas being on Sunday was that you had that Friday and Saturday to get last minute things done, or to travel, or to just prepare yourself for the holiday. The worst thing about it? Getting up on Monday morning because you have to work. The absolute worst thing about Christmas on Sunday is when you have to get up the next day to go to work, knowing your wife doesn’t have to go back into the office until that Monday, a week later. When Quinn got out of the bed, Santana made a half hearted effort to get up, too, but quickly gave up. Santana had been running herself ragged lately, so she didn’t really begrudge her her sleep, much, but she had to remind herself not to feel resentful as, for once, Quinn was the one to leave her wife behind and alone in the bed.

                The day passed the way Quinn expected a Monday after a holiday to pass: slowly and tediously. Quinn could have taken her vacation days to cut out on the rest of the year like most of her coworkers, but she was still gunning for that promotion, and technically as long as the federal reserve was open, so was her company. Besides she’d rather save her vacation time for the summer when she was dragging Santana anywhere that had sun and the beach, for their long, long overdue honeymoon.

                Apparently Cynthia went into the office, too, because midway through her day, Quinn received a call from her realtor about a house she wanted to show them that evening if they were free. Quinn passed the information along to her wife, and around quitting time Santana met up with Quinn at her office so they could drive over to the house together.

                Santana looked so much better rested when she got to Quinn’s office; apparently a day’s worth of sleep had done wonders. Cynthia, however, could not boast the same, and for the first time since they hired her, she was actually late, and she looked slightly haggard. She offered a quick apology that both women waved away. “This listing pretty much just landed on my desk, because the offer on it fell through. Good thing for us, though; I think this listing is absolutely perfect for you two.” She talked as she walked. “As you can see, it’s only a fifteen minute commute, and the asking price is just a little more than that house that you guys liked in East Roxbury.”

                They walked down the short drive behind Cynthia, and the second they caught sight of the white house at the end of the lot, Quinn knew that it was something she was going to like. It wasn’t a Victorian, so that was a little disappointing, but the manor’s design was just as stately, so that small detail could be overlooked. And there were trees. Lots of trees. Old trees. And no neighbors right up against the property line.  

                 Their initial look at the front of the grounds, even in the fading winter light, made a mark on both of them. The yard, in both the front and the back of the house, was private and spacious, and once they put some work into the landscaping, it would be a very handsome lawn.

                “Why did the offer fall through?” Santana questioned, obviously liking what they had seen so far, even though they hadn’t yet gone inside.

                “The purchaser’s job moved to a different state, and they were no longer in the market.”

                “How long was the house on the market before that?”

                “200 days. And the house has since been marked down by another $20,000.”

                “200 days?”

                “That’s good. It means the seller is really motivated to sell.”

                “But why has it been on the market for that long?”

                Cynthia waved towards the house. “Let’s go look inside.” Cynthia led the way and they followed. “It was originally a single family home that was broken up into two separate units after the original owners passed. About two years ago an investor wanted to make it into a B&B, but then backing fell out, so the renovations to turn it back into a single structure were halted. Then almost a year ago, the house was bought by a flipper who got overwhelmed, and it’s been on the market ever since.”

                Quinn couldn’t help herself when she walked into the front door. She already knew the house was big, but seeing it from the inside was something else. “How many rooms is this?”

                “6 bedroom, 4 baths, and there’s, I believe, 17 rooms.”

                Inside, the very first thing they saw was the staircase. It had a soft spiral, like a conch shell, and the steps kind of lazily glided upwards instead of simply circled. There was so much old fashioned charm to the stairs, really to the front room in general. There was crown molding not just on the ceiling, but on the floors and baseboard as well. Santana gave Quinn’s hand a squeeze, and she looked over at her, unable to help her smile.

                “Off to the right, here, right beneath the arch is going to be your two piece powder room.”

                They peaked at the space. There wasn’t much to it; it was like she said a powder room. It surprisingly wasn’t like a closet; there was space enough to move, to actually breathe. “And right across from the powder room, on the right, is going to be your library.”

                The room was pretty close to perfect. It was just the right size, not too small, not too big. And it had three windows which, Quinn was sure, would let it plenty of sunlight. In her head she could already see the window seat that they would build underneath the window, for either of them to read at, if they chose. “The room behind the library is the downstairs master suite, or a mother-in-law suite, with a full four piece bath and walk in closet.”

                A back hall took them to the other side of the bottom floor, where they saw the large and wide open kitchen, with a island, and bar counter seating, the pantry, and a space where they could put a table if they wanted to, but wasn’t a formal dining room, which the house didn’t have, having been eliminated by one of the earlier renovations. The master bedroom was practically identical to the suite downstairs, only it was slightly bigger, had a balcony, a fire place, and a window seat.       

                When they had made it back to the front hall, Cynthia questioned, “So what do you think?”

                Quinn turned towards Santana. It didn’t take much imagination to see why this house had been on the market for so long. Every room needed work done. Some a _lot_ ofwork. The kitchen was pretty much a complete shambles. It looked like it hadn’t been updated since FDR was in office, the appliances were all out dated, and there was even a hole in the floor. Half-assed projects had been started and never finished all over the house. There was drywall missing. All of the windows, in every room but two of them where brand new windows had been put in, would need to be replaced. And there was tacky wall paper everywhere, including n the front hall.

                On the positive side of the coin, there were two rooms that had brand new windows, and except for the kitchen, the floors throughout were in near perfect condition. They had two functioning bedrooms, the master suite and the in-laws suite, and one and a half baths. It had also ticked off everything on their list: it had a mother in law suite, the basement was free space, it had a great backyard, there was privacy and yet they were still in the city, and only a few minutes away from both of their jobs so they wouldn’t be looking at long commutes. Which meant more time at home with each other.

                There was an understated elegance to the house, too. Even though it hadn’t been treated well, the home still exuded grace. “It’s like you, babe,” Santana had even said, echoing the way Quinn felt about the place.

                “I really like this place, San,” Quinn said in response. 

                “I can tell. Do you like it like you want to put an offer on the table right now, or you like it like you want to add it to the list?”

                Quinn stepped closer to her wife, tugging on her. “I like it like I really can see this being our home.” 

                 “Yeah?” Quinn nodded. “Even better than the Victorian?”

                “That was nice, but I love this place.”

                “We really are the same, huh? I completely feel the same. Well, of course not like about putting an offer down right now, right now. Actually,” she turned to Cynthia. “How late are you willing to stay?”

                She was willing to stay late. Santana made a call and while they waited, they sat down on the bench in the front hallway idly chatting about their holidays. It turned out Cynthia had two six year old boys, which may explained her haggard look.

                It took Sam 40 minutes to get out to the house and for good measure he brought Mercedes with him. Quinn stayed with Mercedes, while Santana, Cynthia, and Sam went walking through the house, room by room.

                “Is this the one?” Mercedes questioned eagerly, once they were gone.

                “Me and Santana are thinking that it could be, yeah.”

                Mercedes crossed her fingers and sat on them. “I hope it is; this place is so you.”

                They both looked up when the three of them retuned 25 minutes later. Quinn’s eyes automatically fell to Sam. “How bad is it?”

                Sam shrugged. “Well, of course you’re going to need an inspector to come out, but I didn’t see any _major_ structural damages-,”

                “So you found some non major damage?”

                Sam nodded. “An inspector will better be able to tell you more definitely than I can once he tests. Just from what I seen, though, you guys are looking at at least $200,000 in renos if not more.”

                Quinn looked at her wife at this to see if this was a deal break. Even though the renovations didn’t have to be done overnight, the house was already on the higher end of their budget, it was in serious disrepair, and with a house that old you didn’t know what was hiding underneath the floorboards. All of that spelled even more money.  

                Santana turned to Cynthia. “Didn’t you say that there was a deal on the table that fell through?”

                Cynthia nodded. “So has an inspector already come out to the place?”

                 “I’m not certain; I can check.”

                “It’d be really great if they have. Following the inspector’s report, we’d like to put down an offer on the house. Can you do that tomorrow?”

                “Of course. Are you sure?”

                Santana turned to Quinn. “Are we sure about this?” 

                Quinn nodded. They smiled at each other. “We’re sure.”

                Quinn crossed her fingers. They may have found their house!   


	7. New York,  New Year

"Okay, it's definitely time that we talk Rachel into moving to Boston," Santana grumped, not even half an hour into the car ride. She had her head resting on Quinn's shoulder, trying to get as comfortable as possible in the limited space. "This is ridiculous." She felt a chastising tap on her arm at the words. What? Santana mouthed at Quinn.

"I veto that," Mercedes chimed in from the driver's seat. She and Sam were in the front row of Mercedes five year old Cadillac Escalade. Brittany and Tamara were stretched out in the middle row, sitting sideways so that they could see both the front and the back, and Quinn and Santana were in the back row. "I love the girl as much as everyone else in this car, but I don't think that I can handle it if we were like seeing her every day."

"Oh, come on, Diva. We all live in the same city, and don't see each other every day."

"No, but you're talking about Rachel. She'd have all of our schedules down pat, and demand that we do 'family lunches' and 'family dinners' and whatever else she can stick the word 'family' on."

"Christmas caroling and sing-alongs..."

"Exactly."

"Hey, speaking of families, have you guys settled on a name for T-squared? Because Tanner..."

"We're not naming our baby after you Santana, get over it. If it's a boy it's going to be Sam Jr, and if it's a girl-,"

"Mercedes, junior," Sam said. Mercedes lifted her hand to hit him on the arm. "What? If I get one, you get one, right?"

"Look, I love my name," Mercedes said, "but I don't want my baby to go through what I went through with it. So while she won't have some white bread name like Heather, she will also not be named Mercedes, either. So yeah."

"Oh come on, baby, don't you want our little girl to have a bit of you, too?"

"Trust and believe that our little girl will have a lotta bit of me," Mercedes remarked.

Santana held up a hand. "Hold up, it's a girl?"

Sam and Mercedes exchanged looks. "We don't know that definitively," Mercedes hedged. "We won't know for certain until our next doctor's visit-"

"But when Grandma Jones had her fish dream,"

"Oh, no way, your family does that, too?" Tamara questioned.

"This is a thing?"

"Fish dream?" Brittany questioned.

"-the fish had a knotted string in its mouth, which means we're having a girl." He looked over at Mercedes, "Right?"

"That's what Grandma Jones said."

"In our family, you knew the sex by whether or not the fish had teeth. No teeth meant it was a girl, teeth meant that it was going to be a boy."

"Oh no," Mercedes shook her head. "Teeth are bad. Teeth mean someone's going to die."

Brittany clamped her hand over Tamara's belly. "Don't say that! Squishy is only to be surrounded by positive thoughts at all times."

"Can someone please explain the fish thing," Quinn demanded, her and Brittany appearing to be the only one out of the loop.

There was laughter at her expense. Tamara explained, "If the 'seer' in the family, and not every family has one, but if the seer has a dream of fish, it means someone in the family is pregnant."

"Did someone in your family dream of fish?" Brittany questioned.

"So it's fish for you guys? No joke, my great aunt Ria swore that if you spread flour in the backyard at midnight and you woke up and there were footprints in it the next morning then you were pregnant-,"

"That's ridiculous."

"Grandma Jones dreamed of fish before your wedding," Sam offered, nodding significantly. "Right before."

"And my abuela swears by her Mexican Third Eye. And hey, there are many old folk traditions that westerners uphold that they don't even realize that they uphold still because they don't know the folk traditions."

"Like what?"

Santana shrugged. "Like carrying the bride over the threshold, throwing the bouquet-,"

"I always wondered why brides did that," Sam chimed in.

Mercedes was the one to answer. "I read something that said it was because brides were considered to be full of good luck, so people would try to take mementos off of the bride, so she would throw the bouquet in order to distract the mob long enough so that she could get away."

"That, and carrying the bride over the threshold was because if a bride tripped it would bring bad luck to the marriage, and women were supposed to be unlucky and clumsy and men were the steady ones, so the man carried the woman to bring in good luck. And...in traditional marriages the man used to kidnap the woman from her family. See...silly folk traditions exist in your culture, too."

"Is that true?" Brittany questioned.

"First time I'm hearing it."

Sam turned back to Mercedes. "I just think that we should go with tradition," Sam was saying.

"But she's named after a car," Santana pointed out.

"She's not named after a car-," Both Sam and Quinn corrected.

"She's named after Mercedes Ruehl."

"Who was probably named after the car."

"Doubtful. Ruehl was born in 1948, which was before the Mercedes Benz came to America, and Ruehl's mom was named Mercedes, too, so they were probably like the bastard child of Karl Benz or Gottlieb Daimler." Mercedes gave Sam a loving look. "Told you, steel trap, babe. And we should totally keep up with the tradition."

"I was thinking more like Tina, because then it could be like a tribute to my mom, Justine, and like the great Diva herself. Or Whitney."

"Christina or just Tina?" Brittany questioned. Mercedes seemed to be chewing it over. She looked at Sam. "Because if you name TT Tina our daughters will be twins."

"What do you mean?" Mercedes asked.

Brittany checked with Tamara, before continuing. "We were going to wait to tell you, but we might as well say it now: we're having a girl!"

"You found out and you didn't tell me?" Santana demanded.

"Congratulations," Quinn said.

"Have you picked out a name yet?"

"Tamara didn't want to,"

"It's bad luck to choose a name before the baby is actually here," Tamara explained.

"But we're torn between Christina and Skye, with an E."

"I like Skye," Quinn and Santana said.

"I had a friend in elementary school named Skye," Tamara explained. "But Brittany really likes Christina."

"But since the baby has my last name, it's whatever Tamara wants to name her."

"I can't believe you didn't tell me this sooner, Britt!" Santana said. "I thought we agreed on Anita."

"What would you have for a middle name? Would she be like Skye Christina or Christina Skye or something else completely?"

Tamara looked startled. "We haven't made it that far."

"If her first name is Skye, you should give her he middle name Walker. Then she'll be Skye Walker."

"Anita Skye..."

"Drop it, Santana," Quinn scolded.

Santana rolled her eyes and slumped in her seat. "Hey, speaking of dropping things," Mercedes chirped from the front, "did you guys put an offer down on that house?"

"Ooh, you guys found a house?" Brittany questioned.

"We hope so," Santana answered. "We put a tentative offer on the table yesterday, actually. I got the inspector's report expedited."

"How bad was it?" Sam questioned.

"No major structural damage issues, no water damage, no mold, no asbestos. Like you said, there's some structural damage, but me and Quinn never said we wanted a move-in ready place."

"Still, what you're looking at is a lot to take on."

Santana shook her head. "It's not a lot for us to take on, because you're the one who's going to be doing all the reno work...we mean if you want. You're still looking for full time work, aren't you?"

"Uh…yea…yeah," Sam said quickly. "It's going to be a lot, though, and renos? I've heard they get vicious. People don't know what they're in for until they end up with saw dust in their cereal, and the water cut off when they're trying to shampoo their hair. You sure you want to take it on?"

Santana looked over to Quinn, but she didn't really have to because she knew how much Quinn really wanted the house. "I've gone 10 days without showering before; I'll be okay."

Quinn gave her a concerned look. "Have you really?" she said in a low voice.

Santana gave a curt nod. "I was kind of stranded in the desert," she said in a low voice so no one else could hear. "Tell you about it sometime."

"Don't say I didn't warn you. I wasn't kidding about it easily costing you 200k to bring the house up to scratch. That's like the cost of a nice house back home."

"Yeah, but consider how much house we're getting for that amount. Taking into consideration the amount of work that needs to go into it, I went in $75,000 under their asking price. I figure that they'll ask for maybe $15,000 more, but I doubt they'll demand anything higher than that. It's a flip house that flopped. When you're flipping a house you want to turn the house over in 30 to 60 days, and this house has been up for sale for three times that time. For them, it's a loss no matter how you slice it; I'm guessing they're just going to want to get out with what they can get by this time.

"And if they do take $60,000 off of their current asking, even with the amount of renos that the house is going to take, it still comes in just under the top end of what we wanted to spend on a house."

And it's the house that Quinn wants, Santana thought in her head. Within reason there wasn't much that Santana wouldn't put up with to give her the home that she wanted. She liked, too, that the house needed a lot of love; it otherwise felt wrong for her and Quinn to be living in a house of that size without having people to fill up the space. Once they got everything together, she had every intention of having people over for every major (and non-major) holiday.

"I hope you guys get your place!" Brittany said cheerfully.

"Member when we were looking for our place?" Tamara questioned quietly.

"Yes! How could I forget, we almost got divorced over it!" She giggled.

Santana sensed gossip. "Really?"

"Brittany wanted a house in the country, with cows,"

"And chickens!"

"And ducks?" Santana wondered.

Tamara nodded rapidly. "And a duck pond. I've lived in the city my whole life, and she wanted to move out to the country. Not even the suburbs, but the country!"

Brittany smiled, nuzzling her wife. "You would have liked it."

Tamara's voice dropped, directed more to Brittany than any one else. "There's only so much that you can put up with for the one you love. Besides, all of our friends are in the city, we both work in the city,"

"And with as much as Tamara works, and with the commute, we'd never get to see each other." Brittany pouted. "And that's complete deal breaker, even if I don't get my ducks."

"You will. We'll retire on a farm, just for you."

Quinn shared a look at Santana surprised at the amount of conversation from Tamara. Did that mean that she was finally warming up to Brittany's friends?

Tamara gave a sudden grimace, her hand going to her belly. "Something wrong?" Quinn questioned, noticing.

Brittany gave a concerned look. "Squishy's just been kind of active recently," she answered. She and Tamara's eyes fell on each other, and held.

"Do you guys want us to take you back home?" Mercedes questioned. "We'll miss you, but if there's something wrong with the baby..."

"Nothing's wrong," Tamara answered. "We're fine." She rubbed her temple. "Besides, if we go back home, all I'm going to do is work, and I promised Brittany that I wouldn't do any of that until the New Year."

"No...not until the weekend is over!" Brittany corrected, her earlier concern gone as she shot her wife a look. "So no pulling your laptop out as soon as midnight strikes. You work too much, goose."

Tamara gave a little soft chuckle shaking her head, and whispering something in Brittany's ear. Mercedes smiled at them in the mirror. Either Tamara was seriously riding the pregnancy hormones, or she really was warming up to them.

"Hey guess what Santana's going to do," Quinn said, when conversation in the SUV hit a lull.

Sam turned around in his seat. "Giving up her life in Boston to try out on Broadway?"

Everyone but Tamara laughed. "Oh, funny, Trouty. I still haven't decided to like you, so watch yourself."

Sam gave her an impressive eye roll. "Yeah, yeah."

Damn, these fuckers think that marriage has softened me, Santana thought to herself. Quinn give her a sideways smile, seeming to smile at the words Santana hadn't said.

"What are you going to do, Santana?" Brittany questioned eagerly.

"She's going hunting!"

"You're going to kill Bambi?" Brittany questioned with her pout-face in place.

"You better not tell Rachel that."

"I'm not going to kill Bambi, B, mostly because Bambi doesn't actually exist. And come on, everyone in this car is a meet eater."

"Yes, when it comes packaged and placed neatly on the grocery shelf, not when it's still walking around."

Santana shrugged. "Keep telling yourself that there's a difference. Right now I'm trying to get Q to change her mind and come with me, but she keeps on refusing."

"And she will keep on refusing until you come up with something sensible," Quinn said.

"Ah, come on, babe! You said you wanted us to have a thing. This could be our thing. Think about how much money we'd save on fresh meat."

"Oh, that is so not happening."

"Can I come?" Sam questioned.

"No!" Santana and Mercedes both said. Santana chuckled. "Does that mean that you won't be getting on the fresh dear meat, 'Cedes? No deer jerky?"

"Uh...no, I'll take my burgers and piggies, thank you."

"Bet you can't even tell the difference," Santana challenged.

"I'd try it." A surprising voice said from the middle bench.

"Really, Tamara?" Santana questioned eagerly. She couldn't kill something unless she knew people would eat it, and she didn't want to be stuck eating deer meat for the next couple of weeks. She had never eaten deer before but she could only imagine it tasted gamey.

"Sure, why not? I mean me and Brittany are going to be retiring to the country once the babies are all grown, and I'm sure I'm going to be doing crazier things..."

Santana leaned forward for a high five. "Alright!"

Quinn shivered still repulsed by the idea. She was also oddly fascinated by the thought of watching Santana kill something. Not very many people could actually brag about having a woman who could slay the beast and bring it home. She was in that space when she was both proud and slightly ill with her wife.

"Britt you going to at least try it?"

Tamara looked from Brittany to Santana. "If Tamara's going to, I guess I have too." She unexpectedly got a worried look on her face. "It won't be bad for the baby will it?"

"It will definitely be a thousand times better for Squishy than half of the things you get off of the grocery shelves."

"Okay, then, bring it on!"

"Mercedes," Santana questioned leadingly. Mercedes' stink face was missed out by merit that no one but Sam could see it.

"Hell no! Just my luck the baby would probably end up liking it, and I'll end up spending the rest of my pregnancy having to eat deer meat," she shuttered in her seat.

Tamara's hand dropped onto her belly. "Is the baby kicking?" Brittany questioned eagerly, her hand coming down on top of Tamara's.

"Can I feel?" Santana questioned. She was expecting Tamara to say no, so she was surprised when she said yes, reaching out for Santana's hand. She placed it on her belly. "That is so cool. Babe you want to feel?"

Quinn shook her head. "I've felt it before." From the inside.

Sam was leaning over the seat watching the women watch the baby kicking. He was jealous because he couldn't wait to feel his baby kick, and he didn't think that Tamara would let him put his hand on her stomach.

His eyes fell on Santana. So...San, when are you going to knock up Quinn," he questioned.

Quinn gave Santana a worried glance, a soothing hand rubbing over Santana's arm as she withdrew her hand from Tamara's belly. "Santana's going to be carrying our first child, actually."

"Really? Oh, I can't wait to see you pregnant, Satan," Mercedes teased.

"Well, you're going to have to. Wait," Quinn corrected. "We decided to wait for a little while."

"Well, don't wait too long. If we get one more Glee kid pregnant, we can open a day care, then when they're all older we can resurrect the New Directions with our kids! And then all of them can all date each other like we did!"

"Wouldn't that be like incest?"

"Only if you ask Rachel."

"I'm sure she'd be all for it, then she could kidnap all of the kids and force them to perform show tunes in their diapers."

"I wouldn't be surprised if she hasn't already done so. But poor Tray, he's the only boy in this family so far," Mercedes said. "Maybe this is little Sammy junior, and we can even it out a little."

"Tray's not the only boy, actually," Santana said quietly. Her words didn't go unnoticed, though. "No one else has a kid, do they? Shelly's not pregnant, Quinn has a daughter."

"I have a son."

Sam gave a chuckle. "You pregnant too, and you didn't tell us?"

Quinn laced their fingers together. "No."

Sam's smile grew bigger. "You uh have a kid that you never told us about," Sam said with a chuckle.

"Yea, actually," Santana said without batting an eye. "His name is Philip. Philip Jacob Lopez. He's five."

Sam laughed, but he was the only one because Brittany knew Santana, and Mercedes could feel the sudden tension, and Tamara didn't know what to think.

"That actually wasn't a joke, Sam," Quinn said.

Sam got that look on his face that he got when he felt he was the only one not in on the joke. "When you'd get a five year old?"

"Five years ago," Santana answered. "He turned five a few weeks after the wedding, right before he disappeared with his other mother. I might not ever see him again...but, I have a son. So there you go. Tray's not alone."

Santana didn't offer up anything else. Quiet descended on the SUV and it stayed as Santana stared out the window, Quinn holding on to her hand.

After Santana had a moment to herself, she pulled out the picture of Phil that she now carried around in her wallet, passing around the evidence for her friends to see. It was hard to doubt that Santana was telling the truth when they looked so much alike. Once each of them had made remarks on the kid, (Brittany squealed in delight, going on about how adorable he was), Mercedes and Santana's CD was played, and that was enough to lighten the mood.

"You and Santana sound so good, babe," Sam said quietly in the front of the vehicle. "You two should so do a duet album."

"That's what you're listening to, Lips," Santana said. There was laughter that was just the slightest bit forced, but it returned things in the car back to normal.

"I still miss that," Quinn said so only Santana could hear.

The CD had just finished playing. "What? Caroling?"

"Singing. I miss having that outlet like we did in glee."

"You can always start coming to church with me, Quinn." Mercedes offered. "We can be in the choir together!"

"You should totally do that, babe," Santana quickly agreed. Quinn cocked an eye, expecting to see an amused look on Santana's face, but she looked serious. "What? I know that you miss church, and it's something you can do together with your girlfriend. How much time have you two spent together lately?"

Santana smiled when she saw Quinn thinking about it.

* * *

By the time they made it to New York, it was 8:00, it was getting colder, and the mood in the car had improved greatly, almost erasing that one awkward conversation near the beginning. But still Quinn pulled Santana to the side before they headed upstairs to Rachel's apartment. "Are you okay, sweetie?"

Santana gave an automatic smile at the term of endearment. "Yep."

Quinn got in her face, staring her in the eye. After a moment, Santana met her gaze. Quinn tilted her head. "Are you?"

Santana nodded. "Yes, babe. I'm okay." She held out her hand and waited. Quinn intertwined her fingers with her wife.

"Love you."

Santana's lips twitched. "Love you, too."

Predictably, Rachel nearly knocked them over when she rushed into their arms. "You guys are early, yeah! How was the ride, how was Christmas, isn't it so great that we still get together like this? I miss all of you!"

Also, predictably, Rachel put them to task helping with last minute preparations for the party. What wasn't predictable was Santana. After working for 15 minutes without a single complaint, she stopped at the task she was doing and went up to the small Diva. Rachel cringed slightly on instinct. Santana noticed but pretended. "Berry, all of this looks incredible," she complimented Rachel, and she didn't even sound sarcastic. She managed to even sound a little flattering. "You have always been really good at putting things like this together."

Quinn's eyes looked like they would bug out of her head, but Rachel merely took the compliment as if it were due. "Why thank you, Santana! Even though this is just supposed to be an intimate get together, I think that things always work best with planning and preparation."

Santana nodded. "Oh, absolutely. You know me and Quinn are buying a house, right?"

"You two found one? That is so good to hear! Every time I talked to Quinn lately, she's seemed so anxious for the two of you to get a place together."

Santana gave a devious smile. "I bet."

"You'll have to tell me all about it! Do you have pictures? When are you going to have your housewarming party?"

"We just put down an offer this week. We're waiting to hear back."

"Oh. I'm sure you'll get it. I'm so excited for you guys! Look at all of us, just doing awesome! As soon as you two close let me know! As you can see," she waved her hand, "I'm an excellent party planner. I would be more than happy to help you plan your housewarming. We should try to have as many get togethers as possible so we always remain close, don't you think?"

Santana nodded enthusiastically. "Oh, definitely, Berry. I couldn't agree more. It's still a little early to be planning our housewarming. Especially with the Pierces' and the Evans' baby showers coming up."

Rachel placed a hand over her mouth. "Oh my, I forgot all about that! How much time do I have?"

"March and May."

"Oh that's not a lot of time at all!"

"And before Quinn and I can even think of a housewarming, we've got to get through moving first."

"I'm a whiz when it comes to moving!" Rachel said.

"No doubt. You're just really good when it comes to those kinds of things, but I'm not that bad at it myself. I've got a full proof method."

"Oh, what is it? You've got to tell me all about it! I'm always searching for new organization ideas! Steve, you'll meet him tonight, he's just the best boyfriend ever. We spend all of our time watching HGTV. It's just so informative, and helpful, and I love seeing other kinds of creative people just let loose! So you've got to share your secret with me, because as we both know there's always room for improvement!"

Santana wanted to tell the girl to be breathe. Instead she said, "It's an old family secret. I can't go giving out all of my secrets now, can I?"

Rachel huffed. "Surely, it's not that...why won't you share?"

"I told you, family secret. Just know that our method? Guaranteed stress free moving."

"I will get it out of you," Rachel promised. "You know how good I am at finding out secrets!"

Santana rolled her eyes. "You can try!"

When Rachel moved to answer the door, Quinn tugged on her arm. "What are you up to?" she demanded.

Santana scoffed, holding a hand up to her mouth. "Why nothing at all, Quinnie dear, and I'm appalled that you would even think that I was up to something!"

"I've got my eye on you," Quinn said.

Santana blew her a kiss.

* * *

Rachel Berry's definition of an intimate New Year gathering was about 75 people, most of which were people that the group didn't know. Quinn was happy to see that Rachel was enjoying being popular, and wondered if she had yet figured out that it wasn't quite all it was cracked up to be. She, Santana and Sam mostly stayed together, while Mercedes got introduced or reintroduced to a couple of Kurt and Blaine and Rachel's friends. Quinn was a bit surprised that Tamara wasn't mingling for the sake of making contacts, but she figured that she was taking Brittany's restrictions seriously.

They, Quinn, Santana and Mercedes were in the middle of listening to Tina describing a patient that she'd come across on her rotation when Kurt rushed over with his gossip face on. "Okay, okay, Rachel's new boyfriend just walked in, and you will never believe who he looks like."

Santana craned her neck to see over the crowds. "Oh dear, God, she found a guy who looks just like Finn, didn't she?" Enough time had passed that they could joke about that now and it was okay. By now, they'd all dealt with other losses, and Finn was no longer a painful memory (well he was still painful for Santana, but for all the right reasons, not because of the sting of his death).

"Just wait until you see him!" Kurt squealed. "Where's Brittany? Damn, I really wanted her to be here for this!"

Half a minute later, Rachel floated over, holding hands with a very familiar looking man.

"This is Steven!" she introduced proudly. It was apparent that she was already heavily in love with him, and he looked at her adoringly. He was a handsome guy, about 6'0 , 6'1, broad chested, black haired, blue eyed, and with a kind of Uncle Jessie haircut circa the early years of Full House. And he had a very, very familiar face.

Santana's immediate reaction after seeing Rachel's latest beau was to look at Quinn, who seemed to be just as taken aback. "Uh...it's nice to meet you Steven," Quinn said, the first to come to herself. She shook hands with him. When Santana didn't move, she nudged her wife until she did the same.

"Uh...me, too. Nice meeting you...did you say, Steven, Berry?"

Quinn dug her elbow into Santana's side, bringing out a scowl. "It's nice to meet all of you," Steven remarked after everyone had introduced themselves. "Rachel, my darling, goes on about all of you, all the time." They were all a little surprised to hear the words spoken in an Irish accent. "It's wonderful to be able to put faces to the names."

As soon as she could do so without being rude, Mercedes grabbed for Santana with one hand, and Quinn with the other, pulling them aside, as Kurt followed trying not to laugh. "Okay, I didn't just imagine that, did I?"

"Uh...no. Berry has finally snapped."

"That's not nice, San," Quinn chastised, though she was smiling, and Santana didn't take her wife very seriously.

"The Hobbit is dating Prince Eric!" Santana hissed. "Oh come on, she can't do that and expect us not to make fun of her, at least off to the side like we're doing!" Santana thought it showed growth; in high school she would have pointed it out to Rachel right then and there, along with a couple well placed, biting, but hilarious, barbs.

Sam came wandering over to them, his jaw hanging open. "Did you guys know Rachel's dating the guy from the Little Mermaid. Dude, I didn't even know he was real!"

Mercedes slapped a hand over her face. Santana gave a loud guffaw. "I'm betting $50 dollars, right now, that Brittany calls him Eric to his face at least once before the night is over!"

"Are you defining 'night' as as long as we're at this party or 'night' until midnight?"

"Party over."

"No way, that's a quick way to lose money!"

Sam still shook hands with Santana. "You're on!"

Less than five minutes later, Brittany could be heard loudly saying, "I loved you so much in he first Little Mermaid but you're acting could have been better in the sequel."

Sam forked over a $50 dollar bill that Mercedes promptly snatched from Santana's hand, pocketing it. When Santana protested, Mercedes stared her down. Brittany broke their stalemate. "Have you guys seen, Tamara? She said she was going to rest for a few minutes, but that was a long time ago."

"No, we haven't," Quinn answered for her and Santana. She looked at Mercedes and Sam who both shook their heads.

"If you see her, let her know I'm looking for her, please?" Brittany questioned.

"Did you check the bathroom?" Kurt suggested.

"No, I guess I should."

"Try the one in Rachel's bedroom. If she wanted some privacy, she probably would have gone for that one."

She nodded, and went off. Santana looked after her. "You don't think that anything's wrong with Tamara do you?" she asked the air. There was no answer. "Should we-?"

Quinn placed a hand on her wife's arm. "I'm sure everything's okay."

Santana gave her head a nod. "So who's surprised that Rachel finally found her prince after all?"

Alcohol found their way into their hands and they toasted to love.

It wouldn't have been a Rachel Berry party, if they weren't forced on the platform Rachel had made for her living room. Quinn and Tina performed Cups together, Rachel sang by herself, Santana sang with Kurt, and Blaine with Mercedes for sake of trying out new pairs. Sam and Rachel started to perform together, but Mercedes dragged him away from that because no one wanted to hear that. Like seriously, no one at all.

Midnight was approaching, and Santana's eyes were searching the crowd for Brittany, when Quinn pulled her off to the side. "What's up, Q?" Santana questioned.

Quinn had a wild, but determined, look to her eye. "I wanted to say something to you. Before the new year." Santana understood that Quinn was serious so she paid attention. "The last New Years' we spent together was at Mercedes album release party. Do you remember?" Quinn questioned.

Santana grimaced. "Of course I remember that, babe. How could I forget; you didn't talk to me for nearly a year after I..."

"I know," Quinn said, taking her hand. "That night, I kept thinking how it was you, how it would always be you, how I would always keep coming back to you, and then you were asking if I was awake, and I tried to tell you I was, but then you kissed me, and it felt so much like a dream. And then you said you loved me, and...that really felt like a dream, and I didn't know what to do with that."

Quinn's eyes searched Santana's. "I was so angry at myself for not saying it back, for letting you think that I didn't."

"Babe, that's ancient history now."

"Still, I just want to say this. I once chose silence over choosing you, and I regret that, so much, but being here with you, now, has helped me realize that nothing's ever final; not even silence. As long as we remember that, as long as we remember that moment, and this one, and we see how far we came, we can make it through anything that happens. Everything." Quinn gave a small laugh. "So call me corny if you want, but I just wanted to tell you that."

Santana smiled at her warmly. "Thanks for taking the time to say it, babe. It's a New Year, a new us, we're going to be home owners soon..."

"The neighbors will be getting acquainted with us soon,..."

"Babe, you're not going to make me Fabray with the neighbors are you?"

Quinn pressed her lips to Santana's ears. "That's not what I meant, San."

"What...oh!" She grinned. "Fuck yeah. I haven't forgot...you know. I went and bought some handcuffs in preparation. And a little something special, too."

"What?" Quinn demanded.

"If you wait long enough, you'll see!"

They went back inside to be with their friends and the count down and celebrations. Santana had just pulled back from kissing Quinn into the New Year when she saw it. In the back of her mind she'd already been seeking Brittany out, so when she saw the flash of blonde, her eyes automatically went to hat direction, just in time to see the body that Brittany had an arm around, start to shake spastically. Brittany, unprepared for the movement, wasn't able to move quickly enough to prevent the woman from sliding out of her arms, and falling to the floor. Santana didn't know if she actually heard the thump as her skull connected with the hardwoods, or if she imagined it, but she didn't imagine the limp figure, and she certainly didn't imagine the sound of Brittany's voice. "Tamara? Tamara!"

Santana heard the shout over the cheers and applause of the party was that brief moment where it seemed like Santana and Brittany were the only two people in the room knew that something was wrong. Brittany's eyes found hers. "Santana!" she heard her name again. Santana was already moving toward the pair, her eyes seeking out Rachel, relieved when she saw her. "Rachel," she moved as she talked. "I need you to dial 9-1-1 right now!"

"Why, what's wrong? What happened?"

"Just do it! Tell the dispatcher that you have a pregnant woman at your party who just went into an epileptic seizure. She's 6 months, 26 weeks pregnant. Tell them that you don't know if she's still breathing, and she is unresponsive.  _Now,_  Berry!" she snapped when Rachel just stared. Santana didn't wait to see if her orders were being carried through. She was sure that Quinn had heard her, and if Rachel didn't do it, she knew her wife would.

Santana was halfway across the room when there was a lull in the crowd enough for Brittany's voice to break through the revelry. Santana reached her side just as eyes turned, one by one, to the screaming blonde who was hovering over the prone figure of her wife sprawled awkwardly on the floor, unmoving.

 


	8. Bad news

 

A red F-150 pulled into the parking lot across from her car. Santana noted the people getting out of it, but didn't immediately remove herself from her vehicle. She took one more minute to luxuriate in the heat that was pumping out of her heater, before she pulled her jacket tighter around her body, tugged on her gloves, and stepped out into the freezing, early morning Rhode Island weather. The sun wasn't even up; it was nothing more than a splash of yellows and pinks and grays.

Chandler caught Santana's profile as soon as she emerged from the car, and opened his door, heading her way. He smiled. "Santana," he greeted when she got a little closer. He noted that she was alone. "Couldn't convince the wife to come?"

Santana smiled. "Nope. She thinks I'm a barbarian now."

Chandler tossed her a bottle. Santana was momentarily caught off guard but she quickly recovered in time to catch the plastic container. It was filled with spices. "After you bring her home some steaks seasoned with that, she'll think you're a goddess."

Santana turned the container of spice rub over in her hands. "She already thinks of me as a goddess, but we'll see."

Chandler hugged the woman beside him. "Lucky for me, I don't have that problem. Santana this is my wife, Donnie."

Santana gave the woman a once over. She was definitely dressed for the part. She was wearing camouflage coveralls and a bright orange wind breaker, rifle slung over her shoulder. If Santana didn't know better she would have thought the woman was a prepper. She had blonde hair, neatly pulled back into a high pony, and looked to be around 25.

"Hi."

"Nice meeting you, Santana," Donnie said casually. "I don't like Hal either."

Santana shot Chandler a questioning look. Chandler chuckled. "I told my wife about the conversation between you and Hal at the range," he explained.

"You've met him?"

"Two years back, for shits and giggles I invited Hal to come hunting with us."

"I know he didn't shoot a buck, so I'm going to guess that he shot off his dick."

Chandler gave a loud belly laugh. "Close, but it turns out that he's more scared of deer, than they are of him!"

Santana snorted, joining him in his laughter. "Figures."

Chandler looked her over. "So what're you carrying?" he questioned.

"Just the PPKS," she answered, tapping her right arm where her gun rested in a shoulder holster underneath her heavy jacket.

"Fat lot you're going to take down with that. You ain't gonna bring down no buck with a handgun."

Santana nodded in agreement. "Nope, I won't. I just carry it with me wherever I go. Makes me feel safe."

"Ah. I figured that you didn't have a shot gun, so I brought one for you." He handed her the equipment along with a orange vest similar to the one his wife was wearing. He nodded at the shotgun. "You want to check it out? We're just waiting for my friends to show up and then we can go. Have you ever been to Block Island before?"

"Nope."

"Shame. Donnie loves it here. While we wait, I figure to feel you in. We're hunting white-tails and we're actually hunting. Block doesn't allow tree stands, so we're doing it the old fashioned way, if you don't mind. I kind of think anything else is cheating, anyway. Gotta give the animal a fair shake, you know? We're going after does. Shooting a buck is perfectly legal, but the meat taste the same either way, and you don't look like the type of gal to mount antlers on the wall," That was a big no. "So, if you get a buck that's nice, but a doe fills the tag just as well."

Chandler's attention was diverted to another truck, this one a gray Toyota Tacoma. "Here they are now."

The passenger side door opened before the car even came to a stop. "You'll like these guys," Chandler said. "They're all business, no bull." He chuckled at his own joke.

It turns out Santana actually liked hunting. She already knew how to track, of course (not as well as Bryne who could probably tell if someone had cancer or if they'd ever left the country just by looking at their poop) but she was far better than average at it. Part of her training had included crime scene investigation and wilderness survival skills, so even though hunting deer was new to her, the experience itself wasn't completely. And she liked it. She liked the chase, the searching through the brush for combs of hair, the quiet, the listening, the waiting.

It made sense: she really liked hunting things down, apparently, which explained why she still kept her job, despite the occasional danger of it. Maybe that's why she and Quinn were together, too; maybe that's why it took them so long to get together: because she liked the hunt. Every other woman was too easy, Quinn made her work for it.

There was a light snow on the ground, and heavy brush in the part that they were hunting in, but Santana knew how to move making as little sound as possible. She was good, but tried not to be too good because this was her first time hunting, and otherwise she might seem like she was a trained hunter. Despite spotting her quarry 30 minutes into their day, she let it go. She, Ellis, Chandler, Donnie, and Rob worked in groups of two and three, but sometimes went off on their own. When Santana was around others she just fell back on what they were doing, but alone was a different story.

When everyone else seemed thoroughly distracted, for fun she decided to track them. She was a little disappointed that they were wearing the vests because they made such easy targets, but for a few minutes she wondered what it would be like to be on the hunt for a person. She thought about the movie Surviving the Game and the story it was adapted from The Most Dangerous Game. She hadn't spent much time thinking about it in the past, but she wondered if Bryne was so good at what she did because she enjoyed what she did. Employee satisfaction was the crux of job fulfillment, wasn't it?

After about four and a half hours of sometimes stalking her fellows, and sometimes stalking the deer, she got cold and decided that she wasn't going to spend more than another half hour in the woods. She doubled back to the river, moving quickly but quietly, and found what she was looking for. It wasn't the doe that she had originally sighted, much a slightly larger buck. She made notice of the way the wind was blowing, and lined up the shot.

At the last minute she slightly jerked her arm, hitting the poor animal to the north of where her bullet needed to land. She fired off a second shot that went wide left, missing the creature entirely, before hitting it right where she needed it to be. Santana didn't watch the animal fall to the ground, just heard the sound as it did. It wasn't a pleasant sound as far as she was concerned.

Within minutes of the shots being fired, Chandler and company came running, Chandler whooping when he saw the beast on the ground. "Nice shooting, Santana!"he congratulated. He turned to his two friends. "Didn't I tell you that she was a good shot?" Santana followed him to check on her kill. "I kind of had my money on you bringing it down with one shot," he joked, "but holy hell you did good!"

Santana postured. "Naturally."

"I knew it was a good idea to bring you!" He examined the animal completely, checking to make sure it's heart stopped beating. "I thought I heard three shots."

"First went wide. Nerves," Santana said. "Little harder than hitting a target sheet."

She felt a hand clap her on the back. Ellis. "But you got over it quickly, didn't you!"

"What can I say? I'm a fast learner."

The buck was tagged, loaded on to the truck, and taken to the butcher's. Her take away was 8 NY strip steaks, brisket, 4 filets, 2 lbs. of ground, and 4lbs. of jerky (traded for 5 lbs. of the flank to make new jerky), and left the rest of it to be divvied up between Chandler, his wife, and Ellis and Rob because she didn't expect her friends to be any more adventurous than that.

Once she and Chandler parted ways, she stopped by the range to return her gun to its case, and to wash off the day's hunting. Instead of heading straight home after that, she took a detour to Brittany's.

She used her key to let her self in. The lights were off in the entire bottom part of the brownstone, so Santana turned on lights on her way to the kitchen. She seasoned the meat with Chandler's rub, putting it in a pan before sticking it in the fridge. She wondered if she should cook it; if Brittany was likely to if she didn't. In the end she decided not to, solely because she didn't want to startle her friend. After she put the meat away, she went searching her out, checking first the room with the recording equipment set up, and then when she didn't find her there, she thought to check the nursery.

2 months ago, once Tamara was safely outside of the 13 weeks "miscarriage danger zone", they had decided to tackle on the task of creating a nursery, and they had gone kind of wild with it, both of their personalities coming out in the design. It was painted in warm, neutral, colors: browns, yellows, greens, and oranges. The fact that it wasn't gaudy showed Tamara's hand, but the murals were definitely Brittany infused. One wall, the one without any windows, had a mural painted on it of a meadow with lots of flowers and a tree that's branches fell over into the crib.

On the branches there was a square with Tamara's picture and her name, and a square with Brittany's picture and her name, and a little leaf awaiting the name and picture of their daughter. Surrounding the couple were other limbs with the names of their other friends and family. She spotted Quinn and saw the name Beth. Saw her own name and her little leaf. There was also a lake in the meadow with two frogs, and of course two ducks with ducklings trailing after them. Despite the meadow theme, incongruously over the crib there was a box jelly fish with SQUISHY spelled out in an arc in black box letters. The rest of the furniture matched the crib and the coloring of the room.

Santana didn't see her friend, at first, because, like the rest of the downstairs, all of the lights were off. Brittany was sitting curled up in the window seat, staring blankly out at the gray of the city, holding on tightly to a sock monkey. Her expression seemed such a stark contrast to the brightness of the room.

Santana turned the lights on and Brittany jerked at the sudden change in lighting. "Have you been in here long?" Santana questioned gently.

"A few hours, yeah," Brittany answered, holding the monkey tighter.

"What are you doing?"

"I came in here to think and I got distracted. Did you have fun hunting?" she questioned disinterestedly, her voice a monotone.

"It was okay," Santana answered. "I put the meat in the fridge for you, and the jerky's on the counter."

"Thank you, Santana." She tried to give a smile, but tears fell from her eyes instead. Santana crossed the room in seconds, rushing to comfort her ex-lover and best friend. It was just as painful to see her cry now as it had been when they were in high school.

As soon as Santana's arms went around her, Brittany started crying harder. "Sssh, honey, don't cry." She felt her own eyes prick and her stomach plunge at the thought of how she'd feel if Quinn were pregnant and if she'd lost her and the baby at the same time. The idea was unbearable to her; she'd probably just give out.

Since New Years' Santana had tried to come over as often as possible to be of comfort to Brittany, but Brittany hadn't said much of anything, and had been so very far from her usual chipper self. Santana knew this wasn't the first time that she had sat in this same spot in the semi-dark, and cried. santana knew that Brittany was wrapped in her head, blaming herself, going over the whole night, the whole pregnancy, looking for clues that she may have missed. Santana, too, found herself dealing with a little guilt because she had sensed that there was something wrong with Tamara, and should have been keeping a better eye on her, but she didn't. Santana had had trouble sleeping, too, because she kept seeing Tamara with her eyes rolling back in her head, her body jerking, and the sound of Brittany's screams-which had been even worse than her cries for help-when they noticed the blood between her legs.

Santana held her a little tighter. "I should have made her stay home," Brittany sobbed.

"It wouldn't have made any difference," Santana responded rationally. "She'd still have had preeclampsia whether or not she was at that party; it didn't cause the seizure."

"She said that something felt off with Squishy; she'd been mentioning her headaches, and that her joints felt stiff. She was in pain, San, probably for awhile. I didn't, I thought all of the headaches were from working so much!"

"B, you can't beat yourself up about this. It's a never ending cycle. You know Tamara; she doesn't really talk about herself. She'd go to work with the flu and say that she had a cold."

"But this wasn't the flu, this was life or death!"

"None of us knew that; how could we have known without her telling?"

Brittany sniffled. "And I'm so mad at her for that! We've been together for six years. I know that she doesn't like for people to make a fuss over her for anything, but I'm not people, I'm her wife! Have I not loved her enough in that time for her to know that I would take care of her through anything? That no matter if it was a cold or cancer that I would always be by her side; not because she's an obligation, but because I love her? Because I can't imagine my life without her in it?"

Santana let her fingers weave through her hair, offering the only real comfort she knew how. "What if she dies, San? If she miscarried Squishy, that would be terrible, and so very sad, but we could always try for another baby. I can't try for another Tamara. I can't live without her, I can't be without her, she's my soulmate. She's...," Brittany pulled her arms to her chest, "part of me."

Santana hugged Brittany tighter. "It's going to be okay."

Brittany shook her head. "It's like we're living day to day. I woke up the other day thinking 'okay, we're at 28 weeks, and at this point in the pregnancy the baby can survive at an X% rate'. 32 weeks is so far away, and 36 seems impossible. 40 is a pipe dream, and all this time is time where Tamara's life is in danger." Brittany gave a sudden unexpected chuckle. "And that's all this time that Tamara's miserable because she's on best rest until the baby comes."

Santana seized on the opportunity to change the subject. "And how is she handling that?"

"Not very well." Brittany ran her fingers through her tangled locks. "Or at all. She threw a shoe at me two days ago because she says I'm hovering. That's why I'm in here. So my wife doesn't think I'm hovering over her because I actually happen to care about her, and want to be around to make sure that nothing happens. I know it's driving her crazy, but if she needs anything I want to be there for her, and I can't stop staring at her because what if she disappears if I blink?"

"She's not going to disappear."

"But she could have another seizure, or she could have a miscarriage, or-,"

"She's not going to die, Britt."

"You don't know that! Nobody knows that!"

"The doctors let her come home, so that's something. It means that they think that it's not as severe as it could be. She's on medication to bring down her blood pressure, to help regulate the seizures. She only ended up in the hospital for as long as she was because she hit her head. Right now, it's tough because you're just in that monitoring and patiently waiting stage, which sucks, but you've been there ever since you found out that she was pregnant, so really it's nothing new. You, Tamara, and my perfectly healthy niece will get through this."

After a few long moments, Brittany nodded. "Let's hope you're right."

"Of course I am, I'm me. Do you want me to go see her?"

Brittany gave an absentminded nod. "Yea, maybe she'll like the company."

Santana stood and placed a kiss on Brittany's forehead. "In case you don't realize, she loves you just as much as you love her. Don't forget that, B." Santana thought she'd attempt to lighten the mood. "And don't forget your steaks are in the fridge, so you should cook her up something really special for dinner tonight."

At the words she remembered her bevy of meat and in a sudden burst of inspiration she went back downstairs before she knocked on the door to Brittany and Tamara's bedroom. Tamara looked up at the door opening, clearly surprised to see Santana there and not Brittany. Her mouth, that had opened probably to say something to Brittany, closed.

Santana shook her head at the sight of Tamara because apparently she couldn't help herself. Her laptop was open on her lap, and she was very obviously not relaxing and taking it easy. Her fingers did still on the keys, though, at the intrusion. "Brittany's in the nursery."

"I know, we just got finished talking."

"So what brings you here?"

Santana produced the bag from behind her back. "I brought you jerky," she said conspiratorially.

"Did you run that by Brittany?" Tamara questioned, her voice unmistakably snide. "It might not be on the approved list of things I can eat."

Santana tossed the bag on the bed. "Please don't make her feel bad for caring about you." Tamara momentarily hung her head. "How are you?"

She shrugged. "Just trying to keep busy."

"That's not what I meant."

"I thought you were the one who didn't do feelings."

"Phil turned me into mush, and love's softened me. Besides, withholding did nothing for me and Quinn all these years, and now that that flood gate is opened, it can't be closed. I'm ten minutes from going all Rachel Berry and singing odes to our love." She spread her arms. "I am a freaking well now."

Tamara shrugged. "It was the scariest moment of my life. My body was moving and I couldn't do anything to stop it. I couldn't scream for help, I couldn't say what's wrong, I couldn't do anything, it was like I couldn't control my own body, and all I could think about was somehow protecting the baby. I know that there's a high chance of miscarriage in first pregnancies. I'm 28; I'm not a spring chicken, I know, but that's not like too old either, and I've wanted to be a mom for so long, and Brittany-," Tamara wiped at her eyes.

Santana didn't know if she should attempt to offer her comfort. They were alike in that they shied away from emotion, but it wasn't that Santana wasn't emotional, it was that she was always afraid of showing emotion. She was afraid of being exploited for showing her weaknesses. For sure she was a bad ass, that was undeniable, but she felt things the same as everyone else; the bitch act was mostly just for show. She wondered if Tamara's emotionlessness was too. She sat down on the edge of the bed.

"I know that you being on bed rest is akin to someone telling you they want to cut off your arm, or whatever, and I know that what I'm about to ask you is a lot, but I'm asking for a reason. I need you to be patient with Brittany, to accept her smothering, and hovering, and every other -ing until the baby comes because she's not doing it to piss you off, or because she thinks that you can't take care of yourself, but because she loves you. I get you're the strong, silent type, but even us tough girls need to be weak sometimes. So be weak.

"You're on bed rest because you could otherwise lose the baby, or we could lose you, and neither of those options are very appealing. I honestly have no idea what's going on in your head because as long as I've known you, and it's been eight years now, Hollywood-I've decided to call you Hollywood-, we've only had a handful of conversations. I think I might have heard you laugh for the first time last year, maybe." Tamara smiled slightly at that. "You're not easy to get to know, and that's fine. It's only weird because of who you're married to. Despite your best efforts, though, you kind of got stuck on me. I care about you. Sure, it might be extremely selfish reasons, because I can't imagine how I would even begin to handle a depressed Brittany, but even still, you're part of my family now. Unfortunately for you, it's a very large and very obnoxious family. The kind you contemplate sending a hit out on occasionally; I saw the basket that Rachel sent you so I know you know what I mean."

Tamara nodded. "We are a bit much, but we care about you. So please don't push us away, and don't push Brittany away no matter how irritated or scared this is making you feel. I know you know me and Brittany's past. Brittany is like one of the world's most patient people I know when it comes to love, she's understanding, and she's patient, but she does need to be showed that she's loved. Just...don't forget that, I guess is what I'm trying to say, and remember that she's going through this also, so she's going to need you, too." Santana leaned forward. "And since I just completely went into a Rachel Berry kind of rant, I have one last thing to say: I'm going to hug you now."

Tamara gave a nod to let her know that that was okay. When they released each other, Santana eased off of the bed. "Can you tell Brittany she doesn't have to hide out in the nursery on your way out?" Tamara questioned.

Santana nodded. "Sure. But hide the jerky before I tell her she can come back in here."

Her eyes smiled. "You got it."

* * *

When Santana let herself into their apartment, Quinn was sitting on her couch, laptop on her lap, printouts beside her, her feet cocked up on the table. It was almost an exact replica of Tamara earlier, actually. Santana sat the box she was carrying beside Quinn's feet. "I have slayed the mighty beast and brought it home!" she boasted. "Your Kari warrior was successful.

Quinn gave her Santana smile. "That's Santana home now," she said into the ear piece Santana hadn't noticed she was wearing. "I'll talk to you later. Love you." Quinn ended the call with a smile.

"Who's that?" Santana questioned.

"My new lover."

"Oh? Will she/he be joining us for dinner?"

"She but no. Can't make it tonight, sorry." Quinn eyed the box filled with cuts of meat wrapped up in paper from the butcher. Her nose curled up. "Ew...can you not sit that on the coffee table?"

"Your warrior has returned home with vittles and this is how you show your appreciation?"

"If it was a cow or buffalo then maybe...but that's Bambi; you're all on your own."

Santana laughed. "You're such a meat snob, baby." She leaned over to kiss her. "You Americans completely under utilize the animal kingdom."

"Could have sworn you were American, too."

"There are more than just pigs, and cows, and chickens out there, and really eating pigs is weird because they are smarter than dogs, and we don't eat dogs, so we shouldn't even be eating them."

"Lay off my bacon," Quinn snapped good-naturedly.

"Just saying." Santana took the meat into the kitchen to put up, Quinn in tow. "You should broaden your horizons, babe. Who's to say that a raccoon on the side of the road isn't just as delicious as a slab of meat sitting out at a butcher's shop?"

"You are kidding right?" Quinn questioned.

Santana gave a casual shrug. "Who's to say?"

"You just now getting back?"

"No. I stopped by the Harrison's first before coming home."

"How are they?"

"Brittany is riddled with guilt and she thinks that she did everything wrong, and Tamara is miserable because she can't leave her bed until the baby's born."

"It could be a lot worse."

"I know," Santana agreed. "But let's not dwell on that."

"It was so scary seeing her lying on the ground like that. I thought she was dead, and Brittany..."

Santana nodded. "I know, babe, I know."

"Why didn't she tell anyone that she wasn't feeling well? We asked if we should turn around, stay in Boston."

"It wouldn't have made much of a difference; actually it might have been worse because Tina wouldn't have been there to take care of her."

"And you," Quinn added. "All of us were panicking and you just knew exactly what to do. You were amazing."

Santana stuck her chest out and rubbed her fingernails on her shirt. "About time you noticed."

This earned her a slap on the forearm. "Don't be an ass. I'm trying to pay you a compliment."

"And by now you should know that any compliments you pay me are just compensation for my awesomeness. Really, you should be doing it every day." She twisted a towel in her hand and slapped Quinn on the ass with it. "You've been slacking baby."

Quinn grunted. "You are so going to pay for that."

Santana gave her a cocky smirk in return. Quinn's expression suddenly grew somber. "If it wasn't for you and Tina, it couldn't have been a lot worse; she could have died. She should have said something! Why wouldn't she tell Brittany at least that she felt off?"

"This is just a guess, but I don't think Tamara is used to complaining. About anything. She always struck me as the suffer in silence type, but even she didn't think that there was anything really wrong; she thought she was toughing it out, you know? But don't worry, if there's ever anything going on inside of me, I'll let you know."

Quinn rolled her eyes. "Trust me, Santana, that is the last thing I will ever worry about with you. You're such a baby when it comes to being sick."

"I am not!"

"Remember that one time junior year you wanted me to miss my midterms so I could come to New York and take care of you because you had a little cold?"

"It was pneumonia, Quinn, and I still can't believe you left me to fend for myself."

"And you have so completely proven my point. Thank you. When you get sick you think the whole world has to stop to take care of you!"

"Untrue. I think the whole world should be taking care of me, but not because I'm sick. Just in divine tribute to my holiness. I told you, I thought we should make worshiping me our thing."

Santana's favorite of Quinn's expressions, the what the hell possessed me to marry Santana Lopez look, flashed across Quinn's face. "I swear I don't know what to do with you half the time."

She wrapped her arms around Quinn's waist, pulling her close. "Well, you've got about two weeks to figure that out," Santana purred into her ear. "As for me I have a list." Santana kissed along Quinn's neckline. "And I plan to tick off every thing."

Quinn sank into her wife's touch. "Have we heard anything back from the bank?"

"Not yet." Santana said. She played with the hem of her wife's shirt. Although she had been positively stoic these past several months, including the chance to have a very merry Christmas, (at least until year two), she missed having her wife in that way. While she was thrilled that Quinn thought enough of them that she was willing to put that part of their life on hold so that they could build a better relationship between them, she had only survived by the grace of God (and her hand, and the adjustable showerhead, and cold showers, and warm baths, and her super concentrated spy skills...okay those hadn't helped at all), and she was more than ready to get back in the sack, pun intended. She'd made a mental list of everything she intended to do to her wife, and those extra trips to the gym had given her a lot of stamina... "So calm your tits, Fablo, you'll get me soon enough."

Quinn poked her. "I know you think you've been so good and I know you're laughing inside because you have reduced me to this," Quinn pulled her impossibly closer, "but I guarantee that you will be the first person begging..."

Santana smirked. "Oh really?"

Quinn gave a confident nod. "Yes." Her voice dropped to a level that went straight to Santana's nether region. "All. Night. Long."

Santana squirmed in her arms. "I like the sound of that."

Quinn licked her lips. "I thought you would."

Santana followed the movement with her eyes. She started to lean forward, but Quinn held a hand up. "Did you wash your face?"

"What?"

"You've been out hunting, and I don't want that on me. Did you wash your face?"

"Because...I was kissing the deer?"

"Exactly."

"Babe, I'm not sure you really understand how hunting works."

Quinn's eye lashes fluttered. "I think I'm still just trying to understand what possessed you, of all people, to go."

"You know the rule: never apply logic to Lopez. And see, as much as you are weirded out by it, if I know my baby half as well as I think I know her then I know that despite her disgust at my hunting, she's spent all day looking up deer meat recipes and we will be eating good tonight."

"You don't know me as well as you think you do, you know."

Santana smiled, her eyes crinkling. "No? What's for dinner then?"

"That's...besides the point." Quinn pushed her away. "I need you to go take a shower. I invited Mercedes and Sam over for dinner tonight."

"One, I already took a shower, two, why, three what does you inviting Samcedes over for dinner have anything to do with me taking a shower, and four, are you sure it's not too late for her to get back together with Young?"

Quinn abruptly pushed past Santana, angrily pulling down a bowl.

"Shower, please." The words were barked, and even though the please was tacked on to the end it was obviously not a suggestion.

"I told you I already took one."

"Then could you change, please?"

Santana hesitated, watching the sudden aggression in Quinn's features. "Mind telling me what's up? I feel like I missed something."

Quinn turned on her, obviously upset. "Will you stop it with Young?" Quinn snapped. "Mercedes married Sam. She and Sam are having a baby together. She and Sam are happy together."

Santana was looking like her wife had suddenly turned into Mr. Hyde. "Whoa, babe, what's that about?"

Another dish came down on the countertop. "It's disrespectful, Santana! It doesn't matter who you want her to be with, she loves him and she's freaking having his baby, and you're still bringing up Young!"

Santana chewed on her lip before blowing out a breath. She was very carefully weighing letting Quinn's sudden attitude go versus shooting in a barb. On the one hand, did she really want to get into a fight with her wife over nothing, especially since things were oh so nice between them? On the other hand what the hell?

"I'm just joking, Q. Pull your head out of your ass."

"And I'm just telling you that it's not funny anymore, so just stop, okay? It'd be like all of our friends constantly bringing up when are you and Britt getting back together."

"Who's out there asking that dumb question? Quinn, Brittany's found her soulmate. And I've found mine. You are the only one that I want. I thought we already established that: I never signed a pre-nup. I'm worth millions." The Fabray eyebrow rose. "Some day, I will be; once some Hollywood producer realizes that my sexiness belongs on the big screen, anyway. Why would I risk my millions if I didn't think that you were going to be the person that I was going to spend the rest of my life with? You and I are Goldie Hawn and Meryl Streep and we're going to be Madelining and Helen-it-up Death Becomes Her style. I mean I will seriously stalk your ass if you attempt to leave. I have resources."

"Is everything a damned joke with you?" Quinn demanded.

Santana was seriously wondering what had just happened to her wife. Like seriously, she knew better than to bring up her period, but was Quinn menstruating right now?

"Okay, what the hell died in your vagina, Quinn? How do you go from 0 to crazy in 3 seconds flat?"

"If you can't understand why I don't think it's amusing when you keep mentioning the man that my best friend didn't get with when she's about to bring a life into the world, and why it's not funny to do that around Sam and Mercedes? Have you ever stopped to think about how that makes either of them feel?"

"Do you hear me saying this in front of them?"

"Yes, you have, and I'm telling you right now that it needs to stop. We're not in high school anymore, and it's no longer cute for you to just run off at your mouth and say whatever comes to your lips. Just because you don't like feelings doesn't mean that people don't have them, and your words hurt, Santana. They hurt people, and the only person who laughs about it is you. All of your friends respect you enough to not say whatever the hell comes to mind around you. Do you think that you're the easiest person on the planet to be friends with? That you're God's gift to the world? People make allowances for you, and it's time you start being a little more sensitive to the people around you."

Any of the mirth that Santana had gained since walking in the door, left her features. Seriously, what was up with Quinn because that was unnecessarily harsh, especially when she was being nothing but Ms. Sensitive lately. "Okay, fine," she snapped. "Know something? I'm going to go take that shower."

She bit back on everything else she wanted to say, and went into the bathroom. Santana could practically feel her skin protesting as she turned on the shower spray, but she stripped anyway, making silent promise to her skin that she was going to douse herself in lotion, when she got out. Despite having had a shower less than two hours prior, she took her time, even washing her hair again.

When she finally got out of the shower, Quinn was sitting on the bed, waiting contritely.

"I'm sorry."

Santana paused in her stride, looking Quinn over. She wasn't going to let it go that easily, though. "For what? For making it sound like I'm a cold manipulative bitch?"

"I'm sorry," Quinn said again. "It's this thing with Tamara. She could have died-,"

"And you think, what, that if she did, I would divorce you and get with Brittany? In what world does that even make logical sense?"

"No one understands why they're together." Not true. With each passing day Santana could understand more and more why Brittany and Tamara were together. "No one understands why we're together. I know our friends look at us and wonder how the hell we happened."

"Only if they're dumb."

"When you and Brittany broke up that last time, everyone was just waiting for the two of you to get back together. I think people still wait for that. You two have always seemed inevitable. It has always been you and Britt."

"For fucks sake, Quinn, Brittany is not your damned competition." She dropped her towel and pulled on whatever was closest to her, not bothering to check if it was hers or Quinn's. "Even without us having sex for the past six months, I've had more sex with you in this past year than I've had with Britt in 10. I've had more conversations, and more pillow talk, and more fucking times that I've wanted to pull my hair out because apparently that's what I like. I know that what's going on with Tamara is scary, not as scary as that thing in high school, but still scary, but you can't start fights with me after every major catastrophe in our lives. I'm not Adam Sandler; I'm not all about getting you to fall in love with me every time you hit the crazy tree.

"And speaking of feelings, I have them, too. I've toned down a lot of the shit I say, so please acknowledge my growth and respect that?"

"I'm sorry," Quinn said for the third time.

"Yeah, whatever," Santana said, not entirely ready to let it go. "When should I be expecting the Evans' to arrive?"

"An hour."

"I'll be in the 'office' until then."

Santana walked out of the room.

* * *

Things grew from uncomfortable, to tense, to back to normal as whatever unspoken issue went unresolved. Santana poured herself into her work, and Quinn did the same. Early Tuesday morning, a week before the end of the month, Santana got a much anticipated call, and she ended up taking the rest of the day off. She waited for a little before noon, though, to call her wife.

"What's up?" was Quinn's answering greeting.

"You busy?"

"I'm working. Why?"

"Have you taken lunch yet?"

"You know I don't go to lunch this early. Did you want to have lunch together?"

"Yeah. Cynthia got in touch with me," Santana began. She could hear it get quiet on the other side of the line, and she was sure Quinn had stopped breathing. "Bad news. We didn't get the house."

Santana could hear all of her wife's disappointment reflected in her one syllable response of 'oh'.

"I'm sorry, babe. I know how much you wanted it. I wanted it, too. I thought it was the one, you know? But Cynthia's already got a house lined up for us to look at, and our two second favorites are still on the market. If you want we can go ahead and put down an offer on one of them. Or look at them again, whatever."

Quinn tried to cover her true feelings. "Oh, okay. Did they reject the offer?"

"No. The house was condemned; apparently it was worse off than we thought. I thought we could meet at the house so we could say good-bye to it, and then look at the new one Cynthia wants to show us. What do you think?"

"I guess," Quinn said, softly, unable to hide the disappointment. Santana gave a time for them to meet. Quinn hung up wondering why Santana would even want to go see the house that was perfect for them, but that they didn't get the opportunity to live in. What was the point? But Quinn went.

Santana was already there and waiting for Quinn when her Cube pulled up. Santana watched from the front of the house as Quinn made her way down the drive. Quinn took in the house as she got out of the car. "What's going on?" she questioned. The place didn't look very condemned unless the red ribbon around it was supposed to be the indicator that it was.

"Guess who just closed on a house?" Santana said cheerfully.

Quinn's mouth dropped open. "What?"

"Signed, sealed and delivered, babe, it's ours!"

"So," Quinn was attempting to work through her confusion. Her eyes fell onto the giant red ribbon on the door. "You're...we have a house?"

Santana nodded eagerly. "We have a house, babe."

"It's completely official?"

"Yep, I forged your signature perfectly already. As of 10 this morning, this place is ours!"

"It's really ours?" Santana nodded eagerly, then sat back and watched the progression of expressions flicker over her wife's face. She particularly liked how Quinn couldn't stop her thoughts from flickering over to the less than innocent every couple of seconds.

Quinn took a moment to just stare at the structure in front of her, tears falling quietly down her cheeks. She turned to Santana and placed a gentle hand on her cheek. Then she slapped her. Santana jumped back in shock. "Ow...what the hell Q!"

"I'm just making sure that I'm not dreaming."

Santana rubbed her arm. "You're supposed to pinch yourself, you crazy bitch!"

"It's really, really ours? We have a house?"

"We have a house."

Quinn drew her into a hug. "I love you so much, San."

Santana's face instantly turned to mushy. "I love you too, babe."

That lasted two more minutes before Santana remembered. "Oh, I forgot...I thought we could celebrate with wine and lunch." She quickly jogged to her car to get out the picnic basket she bought, and handed it over to Quinn.

Quinn opened the picnic basket. There was a chilled bottle of wine, two glasses, and a checkered red, black, and white blanket inside, but nothing else. "There's no food," Quinn noted.

"Well...no," Santana said, stretching the words out. "I was thinking that we could eat something else for lunch."

The one other item in the basket fell to the ground when Quinn pulled out the blanket. "Is that what I think it is?"

"We just bought a house," Santana said smartly. "We-," her words were immediately cut off by Quinn simultaneously pulling her into a lip lock at the same time she started to drag her toward the backyard of their new home.

* * *

 


	9. Homecomig

**A/N: So apparently your computer dying _isn't_ the worst thing that can happen to you. I know it's been a long while, but life happened in a big way and the past couple of months have been pretty rough. As in really bad. I had a bit of stuff stolen, I did a lot of moving, moved out of state, moved back in state, started a new job, etc. Small reminder in case it's been so long since last chapter: there is little to no plot in this chapter.**

* * *

Quinn's cell phone was out and in her hand in a surprisingly little amount of time. Santana attached her lips to Quinn's neck, her hands sinking beneath Quinn's shirt. "Hello, Janine?" Quinn questioned, her voice rushed when her boss got on the phone. "This is Quinn."

"Oh, Quinn! Is everything okay?"

"No. There was an emergency with Santana," Santana's hand slipped underneath her bra, palming her breast with intent. "She got really, really sick at lunch, an allergic reaction, I think, and I'm taking her to the hospital as we speak."

Her wife's hands squeezed hard on her nipple, her kisses intensifying; Santana was trying to mark her. Janine started talking, so Quinn muted the phone. "Don't you dare," Quinn snapped. She could feel Santana smiling into her skin, as she continued to suck.

"Is she going to be okay?"

Quinn took the phone off mute. "I'm sure." Quinn surprised herself with how even she was able to keep her voice. "I'm sure it's just allergies, but she always gets loopy when they pump her full of epinephrine, so I'm going to have to baby sit her."

"Oh, well, I hope everything's alright. See you tomorrow?"

"Yep. Thanks, Janine!

Quinn ended the call and let the phone drop from her hand, not even caring if it broke because Santana was making her feel oh so good in a way that she hadn't in so very long.

"Liar, liar, pants on fire," Santana murmured, as her lips moved along Quinn's neck. Quinn turned into her kisses, moaning. "You're so bad, Quinnie." Santana played with the hem of Quinn's bottoms. "Lying to your boss like that." Quinn felt like she would die soon if she didn't feel Santana against her. "God, you're practically burning up."

"Damned right," Quinn said. She decided to take control of the situation. Her hand lifted up Santana's skirt and slipped beneath the band of her underwear and into Santana's wetness. "I'm not the only one." Santana moaned at the unexpected contact. "You're so wet, babe."

"What're you going to do about it?" Santana questioned eagerly. Quinn ran a finger in between her slit, her hips moving. Santana's hips moved with her.

God, this was missed so much. There wasn't much time for small talk as the two of them hungrily watching the other, both oblivious to the cold. Santana licked her lips before pulling Quinn back to her. They both moaned into the kiss, the feel of skin on skin.

Carefully, Santana lowered her lover to the ground, onto the blanket that she had brought. She attached her mouth to one of Quinn's breasts. They wrestled for a few seconds, Quinn winning out and ending up on top. Her hand snaked down Santana's belly, heading for the place she knew her wife wanted her most. Not to be outdone, Santana's hands cupped Quinn's ass, squeezing and drawing the other woman closer. Their nipples brushed each other, causing more moaning.

"Oh God, babe!" Santana's head fell back when Quinn entered her roughly, not bothering to go slow. It'd been forever.

"You feel so good, San."

Quinn started a furious pace. Santana had no intention of being the one to get off first, but right now she couldn't bring herself to think clearly enough to stop Quinn. Instead she kept massaging Quinn's ass, rotating her hips more and more so that their cores were practically sealed to each other. Santana could feel her orgasm coming, it was just...

"Wait, wait," Quinn said, drawing back suddenly. Santana's body arched towards Quinn's body, seeking the missed contact.

"What, wait, there is no wait? Why'd you stop!"

Quinn frowned, sitting back. "We can't do this!"

Santana's breath was coming out in little embarrassing pants. "Why can't we?"

Quinn's frown became more pronounced as a thoughtful look crossed her expression. "Because we're supposed to be waiting until we move in together." Quinn put some more distance in-between them. "We're not moving in today."

"Are you fucking kidding?" Santana snapped. Her hips still worked, desperate for Quinn's touch.

Quinn shook her head. "I'm not kidding, San." She sucked the fingers that had just been inside of Santana into her mouth. "We've been so  _good_." Santana's eyes were fixated on the sight of Quinn's mouth wrapped around each finger, making sure to get up every last drop, her center throbbing painfully. Her eyes were transfixed, riveted to the sight as she imaged those fingers back inside of her. Her hips moved. "I don't want to give in to the temptation now, when we're  _so_...close." Santana let out an unconscious moan.

Quinn's eyes darted up from where they had been focused on licking her fingers clean to look at Santana who was practically panting with need. "Fuck, Q!"

"Don't you want to be good, Santana?" She made her voice sound earnest when she asked.

Santana wanted Quinn's fingers back inside of her, or to be riding Quinn's face. She had to be fucking kidding right now! "We live together and now we have our own place." She would have been embarrassed by the amount of desperation in her voice, only she didn't have the dignity in her left to do so. It had been six months, and she had been  _this_ fucking close.

"That's still not moving in together," Quinn finished. She started to straighten her clothing. Santana whimpered. "We've gone this long, what's a few more days?"

Santana was about two seconds from sticking her own fingers inside of her and finishing herself. "I can't wait for you any longer, baby." It was definitely a whine, but she didn't really care. Santana was standing in her now own backyard, her skirt on the ground kicked away, her top lewdly hanging off of her shoulders, her make-up messed up, her breasts perky from the combination of the cold air, and the stimulation. Another whimper escaped when Quinn started to button her shirt back up. "Fuck, Quinn, stop, I need you."

Quinn gave her an expectant look. "You need me, what?"

"I need you to fuck me." Another button was buttoned. "Please?" Santana grunted. "Fuck me, please." When Quinn didn't make any move closer to her, Santana let her hand drop. Quinn watched with a half-smile on her face as Santana parted her own lips and started out a rhythm in between her folds. Santana's arousal was fully on display, and she moved with abandon, seeking the release her wife was denying her.

As much as Quinn wanted her hands on her wife at the moment, she enjoyed immensely the sight that was developing in front of her. She couldn't help but smirk seeing the growing frustration on Santana's face. She knew that it took a lot for her to be able to make herself orgasm, but it was fun seeing her bring herself as close as possible, especially since she couldn't push her own self over the edge.

Feeling generous, Quinn crawled back over to Santana, and gently removed her hand, replacing it with her own. She took the hand that Santana had been using and decided to clean it for her, taking the fingers in her mouth as she let her weight rest on top of Santana's, making sure to let her breasts brush against the woman underneath her. It didn't take long before Santana's body was just  _there. "Quinn,"_ Santana panted. "Just, fuck…right there...harder."

Quinn didn't oblige. In fact, she slowed down her pace. "Quinn," Santana whimpered.

"Oh, you've got to be out of your mind if you think I'm going to let you come that easily," Quinn said. She pulled out of her wife, but attached her lips to her ear. "You have gotten me wet, and left me dry, over, and over, and over again for  _six_  months, Santana." She ground down against Santana to provide friction for herself, making sure to avoid providing the same stimulation for her wife. "I've had to resort to dream sex and my hand." The hand in question was currently lightly scratching Santana's belly, as her hips worked trying to get Quinn's fingers were she needed them.

Quinn tugged on Santana's hairs. Santana moaned. Quinn used the opportunity to unexpectedly thrust into Santana, pumped twice and pulled out so quickly that Santana wasn't quite sure it had even happened except for the moan that it drew out. "You've had your fun," she said, smugly. "Now, I think it's only fair of me to return the favor." Santana wondered if it were possible to come just from the sound of her voice, the feel of her breath in her ear. "So, I'm going to work you up, and work you up, and work you up, and I'm not going to let me you come down. Not until  _I_ say so."

Her thighs squeezed against Santana's thigh, as Quinn rocked steadily against it. "And I might come on top of you, and let my juices mix with yours, and the feel of me running into your folds is going to drive you crazy, but you won't be able to do  _anything_ about it."

Vanilla in-fucking-deed. Quinn gathered some of Santana's essence, and placed it on top of the woman's nipples. She grabbed a handful of Santana's breast in her mouth, being sure to lather it with some much needed love and attention, as she continued to grind against Santana's thigh. She let her hand drop, running up and down her abs, teasing at the top of her mons, playing with the hairs, occasionally brushing against her clit but not enough, not enough to knock her over, just enough to tease. Santana felt like she was about to have a heart attack.

"Baby, don't tease," Santana said, all dignity to the wayside. "Fuck me, Quinn. Please...fuck me."

Quinn slammed two fingers deep inside, reveling in the feel of her wife's silk walls. She pumped a couple of times, before sliding a third in. She wasn't ready to let Santana come yet, though, and they both knew that Quinn wasn't going to make this easy. Quinn's own orgasm wasn't far away, and although Santana didn't think it fair for Quinn to get to come and she didn't, she loved watching Quinn's face as she got nearer, and nearer, and...

"F-fuck," she whimpered out, her eyes fluttering close, as her hips still moved, and her fingers, miraculously still teased the woman below her.

Quinn brought Santana to the verge two more times, and then finally let her topple over. Santana wasn't quiet with screaming Quinn's name as she came with a force that made her wonder if she had temporarily lost her sight. She swears she went blind for a few minutes. She clutched onto Quinn as she came down as if Quinn were her life force, until her body suddenly went limp. "Damn."

Quinn leaned on her side, watching Santana. "Good?"

Santana took another minute to catch her breath. "You are one evil woman Quinn Fabray-Lopez."

Quinn kissed her on top of her heaving chest. "Sometimes it's about the pleasing, too."

Santana effortlessly flipped them, but Quinn didn't seem too worried about this new position. She gave a cocky smirk. "You're not going to be a copycat, now, are you?" she teased.

Santana kissed her on the stomach once before crawling over to the picnic basket to get what she was looking for. Quinn watched as Santana propped her legs open, adjusting her hips the way she wanted them, before she poured warm wine in between her legs and over her overheated center. She then proceeded to apply gentle cat licks to clean up the mess.

"This's a 2006 Futu Red California. Fancy stuff." She gave a broad swipe down Quinn's core. "Your pussy is marinating in a five hundred dollar bottle of wine."

It was Quinn's turn to squirm; her view was amazing. Santana was flat on her stomach, her head positioned between Quinn's legs, her back arched enough so that her ass kind of floated in the air, her tongue everywhere but where she really wanted it to be, and no matter how much her fingers tangled in the silky hair, Santana could not be rushed. She seemed dedicated to drinking up every last drop of spilled wine. "You should try this," Santana joked. She paused to suck hard enough on Quinn's inner thigh to cause a hickey. She liked the way it looked so much against Quinn's pale skin that she turned to the other thigh to do the same.

Santana somehow ended up everywhere but where she needed her. Quinn let this continue for only a little while before she flipped them, and to Santana's shock, and intense enjoyment, Quinn poured the wine over her ass, and wasn't shy about cleaning it up, despite that she had never done that before. Quinn only had to hint that she was thinking about sticking a finger inside of her, and it was enough to have Santana clinching against nothing; she'd already been close due to the work of Quinn's tongue.

It only took Santana a few minutes to recover because Quinn's ass play had already sealed something in her mind. She grabbed the blanket and dragged Quinn to the back porch. "What're you doing?" Quinn demanded, when she saw Santana tearing up strips.

Santana methodically bent her over the rail. "Do you remember a certain Fabray family Thanksgiving dinner, and one super wife whose wife practically offered me her ass on a platter if I went along with it?"

Quinn tried to lift herself, but Santana held a firm hand on her back. She kicked Quinn's legs further apart, so that she was spread to an almost uncomfortable angle. "Don't move." Santana kissed her way down her left leg, and tied it to the railing, kissing her way back up. She planted a kiss on Quinn's core before she kissed her way down her right leg. Santana sucked on the skin right above the Achilles tendon before she tied up her other leg, firmly.

Quinn was whimpering. "San..."

Santana thought the sound was beautiful. "Yeah, say my name just like that, baby," she teased. "But put in some 'Oh God's' too.

She took a moment to revel in the sight of Quinn bent and tied over the porch rail of their house, her holes open and for the taking. Santana placed a firm slap on Quinn's ass, remembering her school girl act, and when she got "punished" for checking out another girl at Puck's wedding. Her hand lifted and slapped her ass again; Santana couldn't resist. It was like Quinn's ass was calling to her.

Santana slid into the dildo, then pressed it firmly against Quinn. Grabbing the toy around its base she stroked it a few times before she ran it along Quinn's fold, gathering the moisture that was there in droves. She ran a finger in the mix, briefly allowing the finger to enter her sex. She gathered a finger full of lubrication, and in between Quinn's breath, she inserted it into her ass, still teasing the front with the dildo. Quinn had only taken it this way a handful of times, so Santana went slowly, preparing her with the finger until she was sure that Quinn was ready for her to take the toy. Inch by inch she watched it disappear between her cheeks, smiling at the long, drawn, uninterrupted moan that Quinn let out.

"Fuck, Santana!"

Santana planted her hands on either side of Quinn's body. She started out slow, but once Quinn seemed to relax and open up more, she increased her pace.

"I'm thinking that you're the real bitch bottom, Quinn," Santana joked. Quinn would have answered, but she seemed to have lost the ability to actually form words, much less sentences. It was all she could do to remember to breathe, as breathy moans were drawn out of her body. Santana planted her own leg on the railing to get a better angle. Quinn's eyes rolled back into her head. "Harder," she managed to get out.

Santana happily obliged. She reached around the front to apply some additional stimulation to Quinn's clit.

"Oh, God!" Quinn moaned loudly. Her wrists pulled against the restraints, and when that didn't work, her fingernails dug into the wood. "Oh fuck, San. Shit!"

Santana pistoned into Quinn harder. The hand that was working on the clit dipped lower, to poke at Quinn's front entrance.

Quinn's orgasm was fierce when it overtook her. Santana felt it, but kept rutting away until her own hit her. She fell over Quinn, using the woman in front of her to keep her standing, while Quinn herself had slumped over, the porch fence holding her up because she'd lost the ability to support her own weight.

"Damn," they both said at the same time.

It took Santana several minutes before she had recovered enough to slide out of Quinn, and a few more before she could untie her prone wife, who almost immediately sank onto the porch after. Lazily Santana rubbed circulation back into Quinn's legs, while Quinn just lay there, still basking in the afterglow from her orgasm.

Santana started laughing. She put a hand over her mouth, attempting to stop the sound, but the harder she tried to stop laughing, the more the laughter overtook her body. Quinn's head, which was now resting on Santana's chest, rose with each exhalation of breath. "That one's going in the book," Santana joked.

Santana began cleaning Quinn up with her tongue. When Quinn had had a thorough tongue bathing, Quinn pulled Santana up for a languid kiss, which ended with Santana's legs wrapped around her head, and her going to town on her wife. Santana was in bliss after the first orgasm, but after the second she was starting to get sore, which caused her to try to inch away. Quinn followed, which brought the two of them in the house. To give herself some recovery time, they made out in the entrance of their kitchen, Quinn being careful of the hole in the floor, and lifting Santana up on the counter.

"Remember the last time we fucked like this," Quinn questioned, purposely being lewd. "When I fucked you on the counter?"

Santana nodded eagerly. "It was the day you realized how stupid you were being, and decided to marry me."

"I was being really stupid, huh?"

"Totally stupid, babe."

"I'm glad I did."

Santana stared at her as intensely as she had that day. "I'm glad you did, too."

Quinn pulled Santana's legs around her waist. "So what should I do with you now?"

Santana tightened her legs around Quinn's waist. "Depends. Do you trust me?"

"On alternating days."

"Can you still do a handstand?"

Quinn gave a thoughtful look. "Possibly."

Santana smirked. "Show me."

Santana moved her legs open to give Quinn more room. It took her a few attempts, but Quinn managed to do a handstand that was slightly less than Sue Sylvester's best. "See how long you can stay like that," Santana commanded.

Doing her best to support the upper half of Quinn's body, Santana buried her face into Quinn's legs, and raced to see if she could give her an orgasm before her arms gave out.

They napped after that, both of them spent, neither of them even seeming to care that they were sleeping on their dirty kitchen floor. Santana was the first to wake up, just as the sun was going down, and she decided to wake her sleeping wife, by taking another taste of her nectar. Quinn woke up confused and moaning, until Santana completely latched onto her clit, sucking hard, and then she started screaming.

"Fucking hell, San!"

Santana fell away after the second orgasm, both breathing hard. "I'm hungry, babe," Santana said. "Go get us something to eat."

Quinn gave her a look. "I don't even think I can walk right now."

Santana remembered her gift that'd been left outside, and she got up to go get it, picking up her and Quinn's cell phones along the way. Luckily she had the Pizza Hut app on her phone, and in a matter of seconds, she had put in her order.

When she got back to the kitchen, Quinn was still lying on the floor, legs splayed and open, inviting.

"I-," Santana swallowed hard. "Ordered pizza."

Quinn's eyes darkened. "How long will it take to get here?"

"30 minutes?"

Quinn's eyebrow rose, her eyes raking over Santana's body. She noticed her hands behind her back. "What's that?"

Santana's eyes lit up as she showed Quinn her gift: it was a feeldoe. "Where's the harness?"

Santana grinned broadly. "There's no harness. This goes inside you, and then this goes inside me."

Santana 'went down' on the part of the insert that would go in Quinn, winking at her as she took the whole thing in her mouth and got it all nice and wet. When she felt like it was lubed up enough, she spit on it. "Lie back."

She wasn't entirely sure that what she wanted to do would work, but she wanted to try. She took the 'penis' part of it in her mouth, and when Quinn was comfortably lying on her back, Santana used her impressive tongue skills to push the insert inside of Quinn without using her hands.

"Shit, San," Quinn said, watching as Santana pulled away, letting the toy slide out of her mouth. Quinn surged forward, knocking Santana on her back, and attacking her mouth. They made out for a few minutes, before Quinn adjusted the insert, getting used to the foreign feel of it inside of her before she started to tease Santana's entrance. She ran the purple plastic toy from her clit to her entrance three times before she thrust in. Both of them moaned, even as a smirk took over Santana's face. "I thought you'd like that," she said.

Quinn nodded eagerly. "I like this a lot," she admitted. She got her hands up underneath Santana's ass. Being very careful, she lifted her up. Quinn sat her down on top of their staircase, not too worried about Santana's comfort. She had wanted to take her wife here almost as soon as she had seen the staircase. Quinn went slowly this time, but not in a teasing way. She was enjoying this new feeling. She liked fingers, and she liked using her tongue, and she liked using Gianna from time to time (not as much as she liked fucking Santana with her fingers and her tongue), but this was a new feeling completely. Every time their skin met skin, Quinn could feel the sensation on her end, too. It was better than the insert with the dildo.

Quinn wanted to take her time, enjoy every new situation. Instead of the fucking they had done outside, and in the kitchen, she made love to her wife. Quinn loved when things were wild, and intense, but she also loved when she was looking down into Santana's eyes, and they were just together like this. Santana felt it too, and she used every trick in the book to hold off her orgasm as long as possible. She wrapped her ankles beneath the curve of Quinn's ass, to help her go deeper, and her hips rose to meet her thrusts. She wiped the strands of Quinn's hair away from her face so she could gaze into her wife's eyes.

"I love you," Quinn said.

Santana's 'I love you' was cut off because Quinn rolled her hips in a particularly pleasant way, but Quinn got the idea. "I want you to come with me," Quinn directed.

After this round, they cuddled up to each other, with the feeldoe still in both of them. They were both starting to drift off again, when the doorbell rang, and Santana had to run back to the back yard to hurriedly grab her clothes so she was semi decent. The delivery guy gave her a knowing look, but she only winked, thanked him, and happily carried the box inside. They ate, then napped for a bit, a really short bit, and then they were at it again. They spent their first night in their new home in the living room, in front of the fireplace that Santana lit-despite Quinn's protests-by piling newspaper into the grate and lighting it with a lighter left over by one of the workers after discovering that there was no cigarette lighter in her car (and she couldn't remember the last time that she'd been in a car with one in it).

Santana watched the firelight play over Quinn's face, and couldn't imagine ever being any happier than she was right now.

"Santana?"

"Yeah, babe?"

"We have a house."

Santana smiled warmly. "Yep, we do."

Quinn pressed a kiss to her cheek. "I guess this means we're official now."

She luxuriated in the sound of Santana's chest. "What do you mean?"

"I just keep thinking how real this is. We're married, we made it through our first holidays, we bought a house..."

"We're both in our 30s," Santana said leadingly.

Quinn grunted. She was trying so very hard not to think about the upcoming birthday and that it meant that she was officially done with her 20s. "Things just feel so  _real_  now, doesn't it?"

"As real as it gets, baby." Quinn's hand fell on the part of Santana's body that was closest to her. Her fingers lightly played on the skin. "I know this isn't your dream house-,"

Quinn stopped her. "It  _is_  my dream house. I couldn't ask for anything better than this...except maybe a floor in the kitchen."

Santana chuckled. "In time."

"How soon do you want to get started on renos?"

Santana placed a kiss on the closest skin available. "Soon. Let's just worry about getting moved in for now." Her hand moved to grab a breast. "And this."

"Really?"

"What can I say, I find you irresistible."

Santana had Quinn for a late night snack, and then Quinn had her for breakfast. They were both amazed that they managed to make it to work, on time, and be product, and when they got home that night, they picked up where they had left off.

* * *

**A/N: Next chapter will be a return to plot. I hope you enjoyed.**


	10. The After Glow

            Quinn woke up before Santana and thought about surprising her with breakfast, but got caught up in watching her wife sleep instead. Santana’s ugly sleep had not gotten any prettier since Quinn once looked down at this woman, and wondered if she really wanted to contemplate spending the rest of her life with her. Through fate, or destiny, or just blind, dumb luck, despite all of her bumbling and messing up, that woman who she almost lost several times over, was here, in her bed, with that very same ring that she had once bought for her, on her finger.

            Her own ring had belong to Santana’s grandmother, and perhaps it was silly, but it felt like it was connecting her to Santana, to the Lopez’s and to Santana’s grandparents, to the love they had for each other. She wondered if Santana’s grandmother had ever laid naked across her grandfather’s bare chest, and if the man had been as nonplussed about the woman’s wild sleep as Quinn currently was.

            She did brush the hair off of Santana’s face, though, so she could see her better as she thought about all the ways this woman was her perfect fit. Sex with Santana had always been better than with anyone else, and that was because Quinn had never had this kind of connection with anyone else. In the past, other people have succeeded in making Quinn’s hear beat quicken, but Santana was the only one to ever truly make it race. Even Puck, who she had once mistakenly thought of as her soul mate, had never succeeded in making her feel the way her wife did. Maybe, subconsciously, that’s the reason that she waited for her, for so long.

            Quinn gently let her fingers trail down Santana’s hair, to her spine, lightly walking down her back then back up absently. Her movements stilled, slightly, when she caught sight of that barely there scar that Santana got during those horrendously long three weeks that they had spent apart. Gingerly she touched it, felt the smoothness of the skin there. Without meaning to, she thought about those nights that she had to sleep without her. Funny how they had gone four years without really keeping each other company in the bed at night, but once they got married sleeping beside Santana felt as natural as falling asleep. She couldn’t sleep well without her, even when she had slept in the bed with Mercedes. It just wasn’t the same.

            Quinn’s fingers went back to mapping lines along Santana’s back. So much of Santana was still a mystery to her. It was shocking that she had kept so much of her life secret from her, from mostly everyone, for so long. But then Quinn remembered how much Santana had always liked her secrets, how well she had always guarded herself despite somehow getting to the bare roots of everyone else. Quinn was working on being patient, on letting Santana reveal things to her, and not being so quick to anger the way she’d been when they’d first gotten married. It was working, to a degree. Santana would share bits of pieces of things with her, but Quinn couldn’t help but feel, just a little, that there was a lot that Santana was still hiding from her. Sometimes she felt like Santana hadn’t completely come back to her when she came back from Arizona.

            “Mmmm…that feels good, babe.”

            Quinn’s hand stilled. “Morning,” she said with the softest smile.

            Santana returned it. “Morning. Why’d you stop?”

            Quinn placed a kiss to the closest skin she could, and then went back to trialing her fingers along Santana’s skin.            Santana adjusted on Quinn, in the new position resembling slightly less than a squashed chicken. Quinn smiled, knowing Santana couldn’t see it. Her arm went around Quinn’s waist. “How long have you been up, babe?”

            Quinn shrugged. She hadn’t been keeping track of time. “Not long.”

            Santana stretched, poking one eye open to seek out the alarm clock, and taking note of the time. She gave a little grunt, before lowering her head back down on top of Quinn. “I feel like we went through the sex Olympics.” Quinn gave a small snort. “I’d get a gold medal, of course.”

            A few seconds later, she felt light indentions on her stomach. Santana was placing kisses wherever her lips could reach. They remained light, superficial. They tickled but didn’t send that heat to her belly. They’d had so much sex in the past couple of days, Quinn wasn’t even sure if there was any moisture left in her body.

            Quinn gave a soft laugh, lightly winding her fingers through her wife’s hair, tugging lightly to bring Santana up to face level. She initiated a kiss, and they lazily made out, letting time pass.

            Santana was the first to pull away, lightly touching her lips. “I think I may have to ice these things,” she joked.  A soft chuckle escaped Santana’s lips, as Quinn’s hands lazily moved over her stomach, every now and then sending a thrill along the sensitive skin.     

            “Tell me something,”

            Santana smiled. “Something like what?”

            “Something you’ve never told another soul.”

            Santana bit down on her lip, thinking. “I speak fluent Klingon.”

            Quinn pulled back. “No!”

            “Chaq wej fluently, 'ach tlhIngan pejatlh.”

            “Oh. My. God. Santana,” Quinn gasped. Santana waited patiently for Quinn to get it all out, after all, she probably deserved it completely. “You’re like the biggest of all dorks! _That’s_ the real reason that you and Sam dated! _That’s_ why you pretend to hate him, isn’t it? Because you didn’t want that secret to get out!”

            Santana pushed her gently, but Quinn pulled her back to her. “Oh no, no, no. You can’t drop something like that and not expect me to rake you over the coals.”

            “I did it as a challenge.”

            “Liar. I bet you’ve been going to comic con for years! Am I going to find an Enterprise outfit when we unpack?”

            “Whatever, Fablo,” Santana pouted.

            “Ah honey,” Quinn teased. “I love you, but I’m never letting you live that down.”

            “Your turn, and it better be something good.”

            The smile froze on Quinn’s face, as she seemed to be searching. As impossible as it seemed, there were still some things that Santana didn’t know about her.

            “I had a funeral for Lucy. I made a gravestone for her, I made a casket, and I had a Eulogy. I buried her in the field behind Johnson’s Bait & Tackle, and every year I went and put flowers on her grave until I graduated from college.”

            Santana squeezed Quinn. “Aw…babe.”

            Quinn took the comfort that was offered. “Sometimes I think that I wish I could have found the inner beauty in her, but I don’t regret the nose job; I don’t regret becoming Quinn.”

            Santana thought about that, trying to imagine. Santana got a boob job, but Quinn had become a whole different person. “Being a teenager sucks,” she concluded.

            Quinn snorted, nodding. “Middle school was not the best either.”

            “High school ruled.”

            “High school sucked.”

            “Hey!”

            “Hey, yourself.” Quinn asked because she couldn’t help herself.      “Would you have dated Lucy?”

            Santana shrugged. “Why not? I married her.”

            “If I never got the nose job, if I never lost the weight, if I kept the braces and the glasses, and the geekiness.”

            “When did you lose the geekiness? I didn’t get that memo.”

            “This from the woman who just said something in Kingon. My wife is a comedian.”

            Santana smiled at the word. Quinn was her wife. They were married. She was still amazed by that. She loved that it was still new to her.

            “Yes your _wife_ is, ‘Fablo’.’

            “You’re never going to drop that?”

            “Not until you drop the Fabray.”

            “Do you say that just to tease, or do you really want me to take your name?” Quinn questioned. “Are you that old fashioned and a traditionalist?”

            “Little bit, yeah.”

            “Why don’t we ever talk about you taking Fabray?”

            “Pretty sure I did a lot of taking these past couple of days,” Santana said with a smirk. But just as quickly, Santana grew serious again. “Would you still have wanted to be with me,” she questioned. “If I didn’t get the boob job, if I wasn’t never say no, Lopez? All of this started with a drunken hook-up, didn’t it? What if I hadn’t gone to bed with you that night?”

            “I don’t know,” Quinn said honestly. Because she had gone to bed with Santana because she had wanted to go to bed with Santana, but she wasn’t sure if the conditions would have fallen together so nicely at some other point in the future, but the thing was they _had_ gone to bed with each other that night, so there was no use in speculating.

            Quinn found Santana’s hand and she held on to it. “I fell in love with you that day.”

            “You what?”

            “Well, not that day, the next morning. You know my numbers, the ones I’m always trying to get you to bet on? It was the next morning, and I woke up, and you were there, still in my arms, and I knew then, here was my future.”

            Quinn thought over Santana’s words. Santana had even so much as told her to think of the numbers as a date to help her remember them.

            “I might not know the exact time I fell in love with you,” Quinn said, but I don’t remember not loving you.

            “Even without the sex?” Santana pressed.

            “Sweetie, we just went six months without having sex. I think that says it all, don’t you? We had a sex-less honeymoon!”

            Santana played with their interlocked fingers. “Thank you,” Santana whispered. Quinn’s eyebrow quirked, as she waited. “I know I’ve left you frustrated, a lot, babe, but thank you, for waiting.”

            At the words Quinn immediately understood what she was being thanked for. “You don’t have to thank me-,”

            “But I want to,” Santana said. “Because it means something that you would do that, for me.” Santana’s eyes dropped back to the fingers she was playing with, and she added a second hand to the mix, lightly trapping the hand. “I want to explain…When I was eight, I told my abuela that I would wait until I was in love before I had sex for the first time.”

            Santana paused to restructure her thoughts. “It was one of those things that you said when you were little, and I don’t know why it was even love and not marriage, considering how religious she was, but anyway, I promised. I had this image in my head of what my perfect love would be: some long dark-haired lothario that looked like some character off of a romance novel, only darker, and looking like a mix of my two abuelos.

            “I used to pretend; I’d sit in my tree and imagine being rescued by my knight in shining armor. A guy who was noble, charming, and a good Christian. He would bring me a flower, just one, a white long-stemmed rose, that he would present to me as if it were the most delicate creation in the entire world. I’d imagine all of the tests that he would go through to prove his undying love to me, the feats of daring, the shows of strength he’d tackle tirelessly, just to prove that he was worthy of my love.”

            Quinn laughed at the thought of a little Santana dreaming of a romance novel like love. She gave her wife’s hand a squeeze. “And this great love was a _guy_?” she teased.

            “Oh, come on! I was eight, and wanting to please my abuela,” Santana dismissed. “But they were really feminine men. Anyway. Those images, they never really left me as I got older. I developed earlier than my classmates. I wasn’t much taller, but my friends still looked like babies, while I was filling out. I was becoming a woman, ready to be claimed, but my prince charming never manifested. Guys who were always polite and charming to girls like you, were crude and brash to me. They didn’t bring me flowers, they didn’t want to hold my hand, or take my handkerchief into battle with them. I didn’t understand it. I was doing everything right, I smiled, I giggled, I wore dresses. I didn’t understand why girls like you, and Brittany, and Christy, and Kate, got nice sweet boys, while I got the kind who would expose themselves to me, and try to lift up my dresses, and would steal kisses, as if they weren’t something that they had to earn. I didn’t understand why they would whisper crude jokes in my ear, instead of whispering sweet nothings.

            “I wanted to be one of the good girls, like the Blessed Virgin; one of the ones who waited. One of the reasons I teased you so much, was because I was a little envious of you. I didn’t understand why they would wait for you, but not for me. Why no one looked at me like I was a saint. They didn’t treat me like someone who was allowed to hold on to her innocence, so I didn’t. I wasn’t popular until I stopped with the saint act, and acted more like the way people already thought of me. I was treated like a commodity; the first time Brittany kissed me, she said she did it because she wondered if I tasted like caramel. She didn’t mean anything by it, she thought it was cute, and I smiled because she didn’t mean anything by it, but just because you don’t mean to offend someone, doesn’t mean that you don’t. It doesn’t mean that it can’t hurt you, just because the statement’s thoughtless.

            “Girls like me, in towns like Lima, we don’t get to be sweet. We get our skirts flipped up, or looked under as we climb the stairs, or guys try to get us to go down empty corridors so they can catch a feel in between class. I was an outsider, wanting to be liked, wanting my experiences to be as full as yours. Add to the equation that I was struggling to come to grips with my sexually identity, and you can understand why I was so volatile in high school. I didn’t want to deal with the disappointment of the boys not living up to my expectations, so I stopped saying no, as far as everyone was concerned.

            “You already know that I lost my virginity to Puck. He wasn’t really any better than all the other guys but at least he was a friend. At least he bought me burgers and beer occasionally, and as long as people thought I was sleeping around with him, it kept the other guys away. So,” Santana shrugged.

            “I wanted to do this, not just because of the reason I said. We _do_ need to learn how to communicate with each other, how to not fall back on years’ worth of programming where it became okay to insult, and hurt, and slap each other because we couldn’t express how we feel. All that’s true. We’ll probably always have to work on that, because we’re both very passionate people, and that passion doesn’t always come out in the healthiest of ways.

            “But the other half of that was…we were married before we went on our first date, and having sex before you even knew what my favorite color was. I love being intimate with you, it’s one of my absolute favorite things. I love sex, I mean…babe, I _really_ love having sex with you.  I love every inch, every millimeter of your body, and now as an adult, I realize just how stupid that image I was chasing was. I don’t need someone to rescue me, I can rescue myself, and it was never going to be _prince_ charming. I’m confident in myself, but sometimes I still feel those residual feelings from middle school, from high school, from college, from working at the bar. That I’m someone’s experiment, someone’s ‘Latin spice’, someone that’s not worth waiting for, or worth putting an effort into. I told you, I’ve never been someone’s first choice-”

            “You were always mine,” Quinn reminded her.

            Santana smiled. “And you will forever be mine, babe.” Quinn pressed a kiss to her neck. “So, thank you, for agreeing to wait with me.”

            Quinn made sure that she was in Santana’s face. “That is _never_ anything that you have to thank me for,” she said again. She threaded her hand with her wife’s. “We’re in this for life, and I’ll do my best to remind you that whether you’re this,” she waved her hand over Santana, “or whether it’s something else, I’ll love you. When you’re young and hot, and old, saggy, chunky…and still hot. I want to make you smile, whenever your sad, carry you around when your arthritis is bad. All I wanna do is grow old with you.”

            Santana leaned forward and kissed her wife, reveling in the feel. She rolled on top of her and just lay there, feeling Quinn wind her fingers through her hair. “I’ll get you medicine when your tommy aches, build you a fire when the furnace breaks, oh it could be nice, growing old with you.” Quinn paused. “Even though you’re not about falling in love with me every time I hit the crazy tree.”

            Santana laughed softly, shaking Quinn as she did so, and Quinn continued to softly sing. When the song ended, no conversation rose to finish it. Both of their breathing started to level out, and Quinn was contemplating rolling over and going back to sleep for a few extra minutes when Santana’s cell phone went off, followed closely by a grunt from her wife. Quinn recognized Santana’s ringtone for Rachel. She expected some colorful words from her wife, and for her to hit the silence button, and so was surprised when not only did Santana answer the phone, but did so and instead of saying ‘Fuck off,’ uttered an absolutely pleasant, “Hello!”

            She could hear muted, but chirpy, conversation on the other side of the phone. Quinn cringed in anticipation, feeling bad for her second best friend. Yet no barbs issued from Santana’s mouth. Instead she sat up, and turned the camera of her phone on. “Nah, we’re just being lazy in bed. Babe, say hi to Rach!” That woke Quinn fully up, because who was this woman who was pretending to be her wife?

            “You’re in great spirits this morning, Santana!” Rachel’s amazement could be heard from a mile away. Santana fell back on the bed, shifting so her head was on Quinn’s shoulder. “Course I am! Quinn and I have been getting busy, _and_ we have a house. Did we tell you that we bought a house, cause we bought a house.”

            Rachel smiled thoroughly at Santana’s friendly demeanor. She knew it existed somewhere inside of her, but she usually had to dig for it, and definitely not this early in the morning. “Congratulations on your house!”

            “Thanks, Hobbit.”

            “I thoroughly look forward to seeing it in the flesh. Are you there now?”

            “No. We came back after we christened it,” Santana laughed, and Rachel rolled her eyes at Santana’s vulgarity. “We’re here for a few more days.”

            “That’s why I was calling, actually. Mercedes told me that you guys would be closing, and while I’m a little upset that I wasn’t personally informed, I understand that in the stress of closing on your home, that you probably forgot, or just wanted to wait until it was official. I know how stressful closing is. When I bought the condo here in New York-,” she paused. “I’m doing a Rachel, again, aren’t I?”

            Santana chuckled. “No, it’s okay, Berry. You yammer, that’s your thing.”

            Rachel sighed in relief. “I’m happy that you guys found a place that you could call your own,” she concluded.

            Santana smiled. “We are too. It’s a nice little place.”

            “How soon are you moving in?”

            “This weekend.”

            “Oh, my, that’s quick!”

            “Quinn’s lease is up Tuesday, a week from now, so actually the time is perfect. And with this moving method of mine, I know we can get it done.”

            “That’s right! I forgot all about your “super-secret, Lopez family moving strategy”. Now that you got the house, you have to tell me this foolproof-stress free moving plan!”

            Santana appeared hesitant, but seemed to be making a sudden decision. “Okay, but if I tell you, you can’t tell anyone, and I mean _anyone_ , Berry. This is an old family secret.”

            On the other end of the phone, Rachel pantomimed zipping her lips, locking them with a key and throwing them away. Santana was surprised that she didn’t end up rolling her eyes. “I swear,” Rachel said, solemnly.

            Santana gave a glance around, as if she was worried that she would be overheard, and moved closer to the phone. Quinn rolled her eyes. “This is what you do: you get all of your belongings together, so you know everything that has to be packed up. Then you take a box and you label it a color like red, yellow, orange, green, blue and purple.”

            Rachel clapped her hands. “Kurt had a color coordination system when he was moving to New York! It’s a very effective system, but certainly not anything new-”

            “You didn’t let me finish, cause mines nothing like his lame system. So after you mark each box,”

            “Yeah.”

            Santana paused for dramatic effect. “You find everything that’s the color of the box, and you put it in it. So you find everything red, and you put it in the red box, and then you find everything that’s yellow, and you put it in the yellow box, and so on and so forth.”

            There was quite on both sides of the conversation. Rachel got that look on her face that she’d gotten when Brittany had shared with the group her contribution to the National’s original song theme: ‘My Cup’, a song that everyone was pretty sure was about Santana’s vagina. Similarly Quinn had that pinched look on her face that she usually reserved for when Brittany said something very Brittany.

            Rachel had more faith in Santana’s intelligence, though. “And then what?”

            “That’s it,” Santana said, proudly, satisfied smirk on her face.

            “That can’t be it, Santana,” Rachel argued.

            Santana let herself look confused, as she thought it over. “No, that’s completely it. I told you everything.”

            “That’s-,”

            “Freaking brilliant is what it is, and you better not try stealing the idea and calling it yours.”

            “I don’t think either of us should be very worried about that,” Rachel sputtered. “No offense, Santana, but that system makes no sense what-so-ever! You can’t pack up your things based on color!”

            “Okay, _two_ seconds ago you just said that having a color coordinated system is effective.”

            “I thought you were using color as a classification, like everything in the _living room_ would go in a red box.”

            “No, that’s dumb. See, you probably just can’t visualize it. I’ll show you.” Santana scooted off of the bed, and went walking into the living room, not caring that she was only in a bra and underwear. She navigated the box maze, and stopped in front of one in particular. “See, look!” She had written ‘RED’ on a box with a Red Sharpie and showed Rachel the haphazard things that had been packed into the box.

            Rachel saw for herself, and yes, all of the things in the box were indeed red, and that was…for a second she seemed unable to say anything. “That’s…you can’t just pack everything together because it’s…!” Her voice had reached high school high. “What if you end up having a kitchen item boxed with the bedroom stuff, and then you’re just going to have to separate them, and-,” Rachel flat out sighed. “Santana, I don’t have time for this, this week! Please tell me that you’re kidding?”

            “Whatever, my system is awesome and you know it.”

            “No, no, no. I can’t let you do this.” Rachel put a finger to her temple and started talking to herself. “I’ll just have to get Faye to reschedule my engagements.” Looking back to the screen she said, “I was going to come this weekend to see the house and to check on Tamara and Mercedes, but it looks like I’m going to have to come earlier than anticipated because I can’t just sit back and watch you make this mistake! Please, please, Quinn, don’t let Santana do any more packing! I will help you guys pack _appropriately_ , so that we can shift you into your new house, and your new life, as _efficiently_ as possible. Now, if you don’t mind, I have to hang up now, because I have to go about rescheduling my whole week so that I can fix this mess!”

            “Rachel, that’s really not-,”

            But the woman had already hung up the phone, and as soon as Rachel’s face disappeared from the screen, Santana couldn’t help but let loose the laughter that she’d been holding in.

            “I think I broke Rachel,” Santana said, with a chuckle, turning towards her wife who had followed her out of the bedroom, and was leaning against the back wall, hands crossed over her chest.  

            Quinn looked at the box that Santana had filled with all her red things. “Sweetie, I say this with love: this is not one of the _best_ ideas that you have come up with.”

            Santana gave a happy sigh. “Ah, babe, you really do love me. Look how far we’ve come. Instead of telling me this is the dumbest idea on the planet, you held back and said it’s ‘not my best’.”

            Quinn rolled her eyes. “Please tell me, you’re just messing with Rachel and you don’t think that this is an actual good idea?”

            Santana snorted. “Of _course_ I’m fucking with Rachel! Quinn, I’m a logistician. I facilitate moves for a living. That’s what logisticians do.”

            “Oh _that’s_ what logisticians do!”

            Santana ignored that dig. “I promised you that I know a stress free way to get this move done, and I mean it. Now Rachel’s going to come rushing down here, and she’s going to put herself completely in charge of all of the packing, organization, and moving of the apartment and the storage unit, and tomorrow night when you go to church, make sure to tell all of your little church friends that you’re going to be moving this weekend, and when they offer to help you move, be sure to tell them that you couldn’t possibly impose on them. And then when they offer the third time, humbly accept.”

            Quinn paused for a moment. “So is that the only reason you’ve been encouraging me to go back to church?”

            “Of _course_ not Quinnie,” Santana said in as sarcastic as a voice as she could manage.

            “I thought you were losing your spark in your old age, but you’re still an evil genius,” Quinn said, giving her a sharp peck.

            “I know this,” Santana agreed. She pulled Quinn into her arms and started trailing kisses up and down her neck. “Let’s go back to bed. I believe there’s still like, your big toe or something that I haven’t gotten properly reacquainted with, yet.”

            Quinn laughed, but let her strip her down and carry her back to their bedroom. Santana just might be the death of her, but there were always worse ways to die.

 


	11. The Telephone Game

 

                Santana and Quinn were just gearing up for another round, when a buzz on their intercom halted their efforts. This time Santana really did grunt, and Quinn laughed, placing a kiss on her head before she found her robe and put it on. Quinn looked out the peep-hole before answering the door. “It’s Mercedes and Sam!” she called over her shoulder.

                Santana gave a loud enough grunt to be heard in the next room; Quinn ignored it, opening her apartment door with a smile. “Hey ‘Cedes, Sam.”

                Mercedes wasted no time with pleasantries. “Please explain to me why Rachel called me at 8:00 this morning, ranting about having to come to Boston.”

                Quinn stepped back so they could walk through. She pointed at her wife. “That’s all her doing. She told Rachel her moving plan, and Rachel has taken it upon herself to designate herself as the moving coordinator for the move.”

                Mercedes shook her head. “That girl.” She looked over at Quinn suspiciously. “You look thoroughly fucked,” she stage-whispered. Sam blushed bright red, matching Quinn’s blush.

                 Santana appeared in the doorway behind them. “Naturally.”

                “About time, too,” Mercedes noted. “You’re not you, when you’re horny.”

                Santana snorted. Mercedes came fully into the apartment. There was more of a wobble to her steps now. “Hey guess what!”

                “The baby kicked last night,” Sam said, before anyone had a chance to guess. “Finally!”

                “All night, actually,” Mercedes added.

                “She’s going to have mad dance skills, just like us!” Sam started to execute a belly roll, lifting a corner of his shirt to expose his abs a little.

                Santana’s lip curled up. “So…you’re saying that your daughter’s going to be a stripper?” she deadpanned.

                “Quinn,” Mercedes said in a warning tone. “Get your girl.”

                Quinn cocked her head at her wife. “Really, Sweetie?”

                “What?” Santana demanded. “Lips started it. How is he going to do stripper moves in my living room, and not expect me to make that comment?”

                “Is this what we’ve got to look forward to for the entire length of the renos?”

                Before an answer could be had, Sam’s phone went off, and he was reaching into the pocket of his jeans to answer it. He squinted at the screen for a moment before recognition flashed across his face. “I’ve got to take this! Be right back.”

                He excused himself, pausing to place a kiss on Mercedes forehead before he exited the room. Mercedes leaned forward once Sam was gone, lowering her voice. “Thank you guys, again, for asking Sam to do the remodel. With the baby, and being out of a job, he’s been in a bit of a funk lately. Now that he’s got this to look forward to, he’s got a spark that I haven’t seen since he moved out here.”

                Quinn placed her hand down on top of her friend’s. “It’s no problem,” Quinn said. She started to say more, but Santana cut her off. She lifted Mercedes’ hand off of Quinn’s.

                “Okay, no. Let me stop you right there, Aretha, so we can get something straight: I don’t care about Sam’s personal problems; they aren’t mine. We hired the over large guppy because he’s desperate and he has something to prove. That means he’ll work good and he’ll work cheap. I checked his references back in Lima, and they checked out. Don’t get it twisted. He got the job because we expect him to do a good job, no other reason than that. This is not charity, this is business, pure and simple. If it seems like this is something that is over his big-lipped head, he’s on his ass, got it?”

                Mercedes poked Quinn, “Doesn’t really have the same snap to it, anymore, does it.”

                Santana humped. She was gearing up to reassert just how much snap she still had, when Sam came back, ending his phone call as he did. “Hey, so sorry about that. One of my guys from Lima knows a few contractors here, and that was one of their recommendations.”

                “How’d that go?” Mercedes questioned.

                Sam flashed her a smile. “Great. He just finished up a project, so he’s free to work, and he got me a great deal on windows!” He sat down, pulling out his laptop. “I know you guys want to get started as soon as possible,” he talked as he booted up the program. “So I came up with a couple of design plans, and as soon as you guys give me the go-ahead, I’m ready to go.”               

                Mercedes wasn’t kidding. Sam had spent a lot of time working on their plans. He had done a 3-D layout for all of the rooms in the house, and on digital design it was starting to look really close to the way that they pictured their house would eventually look. Right now, between the landscaping issues, and the problem with the front, the house looked kind of scary from the outside, and unfortunate inside. They were expecting it to take a full year or two before the house was really going to come together, but they knew that going into it.  

                First on the list was their bedroom. They would be temporarily sleeping in the in-law suite, while they did minor updates to the master. Santana wanted the windows replaced for more modern, energy efficient ones, Quinn wanted the window seat to be more rustic, and have storage, and they both wanted a few built-ins and updates to the closet. The bathroom, too, needed some special love, but that was further down on the renovation list. They could wait a little for their en-suite get away.

                Top priority was the kitchen. Sam showed them three different designs that he had come up with after working with an interior designer, the least complicated design looking at a six-week completion time frame, and the most complex ten. 

                “We may have to move in with you guys for a few weeks after all,” Quinn said. Right now, the kitchen was mostly functional, but all of the appliances were older than they were, and the floor desperately needed to be fixed. If they did a full gut on it, they wouldn’t have anywhere to cook for a few weeks.

                “Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Santana whispered.

                “You’re always welcome,” Mercedes said over Santana’s statement.

                “Hey, yeah, and if you’re still there by the time the baby gets here, you can help out! Like live in baby-sitters.”

                “Yeah, like that’s _ever_ going to happen,” Santana snapped. “We’re not coming anywhere near your spawn once it hatches.”

                Again her statement was ignored. It was hard for anyone to take her seriously about that when it was on Sam’s list to turn one of the rooms into a kid friendly space, not just for when Mercedes and Sam and/or Brittany and Tamara needed a babysitter, but just for when any of their friends with kids came over with so that they would still feel comfortable coming after the babies were born.  

                Sam walked them through the remainder of the bottom floor. “I’m pretty clear on what’s going to happen downstairs, but just so I have in mind what’s coming, what did you want to do with the upstairs?”

                “As far as the renovations you would be doing, there’s not much. All the hallway really needs is some added light, so we wanted to open up the back wall and put a window in, if possible. Me and San can handle doing most of the rest ourselves.”

                Santana’s eyebrows lifted. Quinn fixed her with a look, daring her to challenge her on that. Their stare down was interrupted by the sound of a phone going off, this time it was Santana’s. She looked at the caller and was already moving out of the room.

                “H’lo?”

                “So, how’d your wife like it?”

                “Chandy-man!” Santana switched her phone from one ear to the other, and toed the door to the bedroom closed. “She’s still squeamish about the idea of raw deer meat, or of me hunting, but once it was cooked, she was pretty hooked.”

                “And that rub? She loved the rub, didn’t she?”

                “She totally orgasmed in her mouth!”

                “I knew it! No one can resist the rub. Best spice combo in the Tri-State area,” he said proudly. “Anybody can grill, but it takes a real man,” he paused, “or woman, to get the seasoning _just_ right.”

                “Nice correction.”

                “Hey, no, I learned my lesson from Hal: never piss off a crack shot lesbian with a gun. You really impressed the guys with your shooting. When’re you coming out again?”

                Santana ran through her mental calendar. “We’re going to be busy for the next three weekends, for sure. We just got a new place, and we’re moving in this weekend. After that, I wouldn’t mind going out after another buck.”

                There was noise in the background, and Santana listened but couldn’t make anything out.

                “Unfortunately the season’s over. We lucked up and got an extended season when you came, but deer’s over until the end of October, early November. Right now it’s Bobcat and Coyote, which it looks like you’re going to miss, too. Wild Turkey’s next. Shouldn’t have any problem trying to convince the misses about eating Turkey. You Turkey or Ham folks for the holidays?”

                “Turkey.”

                “There you go! The wife shouldn’t have any problem with that, then, right?”

                “I’ll run it by her.”

                “Cool. See you at the range.”

                “See you.”

                The phone hung up. Santana walked back into the apartment proper, walking past Sam, Mercedes and Quinn and heading into the kitchen. She pulled the bottle of rub from their small pantry, filled two salad dressing Tupperware containers with the mixture, and snapped the little red lids on them securely. She made sure the lids were on tight before she slipped both in her purse, and rejoined her wife and company, who were going back and forth over two different kitchen designs.

                She purposely interrupted Sam in the middle of what he was saying, just because.  “I needs to see the kitchen plans again, lips. You better have made plenty of room for the pantry, cause that postage stamp size one here’s not going to cut it if my woman’s going to be cooking for me all the time in our new crib.”

                “Always charming, Santana,” Mercedes said. “Always.”

                Santana gave her a wink, as Sam showed her the plans.  

                “Hey, I had some questions about what you wanted to do with the basement-”

                “What about it?”

                “I’m building a safe room?” He questioned uncertainly.

                Santana kind of rolled her eyes. “Not a safe room, a preparedness room…you know, in case of Zombies.”

                Mercedes gave her an ‘are you kidding’ look, directing it to Quinn, who shot her back her, ‘it’s Santana’ look.

                “Really, Satan?”

                Mercedes might have looked doubtful, but she knew Sam was impressed and possibly trying to figure out how he could built their own in the brownstone.

                “How many more news stories do you have to hear about a guy chewing some other guys face off before you realize that it’s coming? I would stop thinking I’m crazy, and make one of your own. Either that, or make sure you have a full proof plan of getting your raggedy asses over here so you can be protected.” In reality the room _was_ a safe room, but not even her best friends needed to know that. “There’s only a small window of opportunity that I’d be willing to hold off before I seal us off down in there.”

                “Did you know she was this crazy when you married her,” Mercedes questioned. Quinn kissed Santana on the forehead in answer, and Santana sat back smugly.

                “All I need you to do is rough ready it,” Santana informed Sam. “And I’ve got an electrician already lined up, so you don’t have to worry about that, either.”

                “An electrician,” Mercedes questioned skeptically. “Cause that’s something normal people have in their back pocket.”

                “Quinn got me an old school Nintendo for Christmas. I had to have it converted so that I could play on it. I know a girl.”

                Mercedes gave Santana a skeptical look, but didn’t say anything further.

 

                Rachel called to let them know that she was on her way, and she would be there in precisely four hours and fifteen minutes, which prompted Sam to want to go to Home Depot and then the house to make sure that the move didn’t interfere with the start of the renos. Santana was left at the apartment to pack, and Quinn and Mercedes ended up at The Baby Emporium.

                Inside the store, the two friends easily fell into each other’s stride. Mercedes got a cart, and leaned heavily against it. “As much fun as being pregnant is,” Mercedes huffed, “I’m just ready to meet my daughter already.”

                A hand fell to her belly as she said it, and a lazy smile fell over her face. Quinn looked her friend over in kind of amazement. She didn’t get the chance to enjoy any part of her pregnancy back in high school. She didn’t even think that pregnancy was something you _could_ enjoy, but seeing her friends’ reaction to the pregnancy told her that when it was something that you were expecting, or in a better place than being a homeless 16-year-old in between baby daddies, that it could actually be something nice.

                “I can’t wait to meet her either,” Quinn said, sincerely. Honestly she was dying to see what Mercedes and Sam had cooking in there.

                They hovered around the cribs for a few minutes, but Mercedes seemed to have this obsession with cribs and had yet to find one that she truly liked.

                “Santana’s really excited about it, too, though she won’t admit it. She’s looking for a baby to spoil.”

Mercedes laughed.  “Who would have thought that Santana Lopez was good with kids?” Quinn laughed, too. Who would have? “Are you really going to wait to have kids?”

                Quinn let her eyes get distracted by playpens. “Santana wants to.”

                “But you don’t?”

                Quinn didn’t physically shrug, but her voice kind of did. “I turn 30 in less than a week,” she said in answer. “Yeah, there’s time, but there’s not really that long that we _can_ wait, but I understand why she wants to.”

                Mercedes bit on her lip, looking like she really wanted to not ask, but she just couldn’t help herself, or her need to know everything.

                “So, Santana really has a son?”

                Quinn nodded. “She really does.”

                “But she doesn’t know where he is?”

                She shook her head.

                “What happened?”

                Quinn and Santana had already settled on a story for when their friends asked. “Hazel took off with him, and she has full legal custody, so there’s nothing Santana can do about it.”

                “What about getting a lawyer and fighting the custody agreement?”

                Quinn shook her head. “Santana doesn’t even know where they are.”

                “I thought she was like a super-secret agent. Doesn’t she like have people that could find him?”

                Quinn chuckled, but fought down an unpleasant feeling in her stomach. “She does logistics for the General Services Agency. She’s not really that kind of connected, and even if she was, she doesn’t want to get into a fight about custody. Those get messy, and Santana’s thoughts are more about Phil’s safety and well-being. She thinks that Hazel had a reason for disappearing, and although she doesn’t like it, she’s not going to do something that may end up hurting Phil.”

                Mercedes looked surprised and impressed. “Not the Santana we used to know, huh,” she said, somewhat in awe.

                “Sometimes I wonder if we ever used to know her,” Quinn remarked, mostly to herself. It was something she kind of thought about often; Philip wasn’t the only thing she had kept to herself over the years.

                This earned her a sideways look, but Mercedes didn’t comment on the statement. They made their way over to clothes. “So, Hazel’s Phil’s mom?”

                “They’re both Phil’s mom.”

                “Yea, but who gave birth?”

                Quinn sighed because she realized that once Santana and she did have kids together, this was something that she would have to field all of her life, and not just with her friends. It wasn’t just a burden of the gay parent, but any kind of adoptive parent. People wondering who was the ‘real’ parent. This was something she knew Shelby probably had to deal with all the time, because there was still this huge stigma towards adoption. 

                “Santana did, but it doesn’t matter, not to them. They were equal partners.”

                “Then how did Hazel get full custody?”

                Quinn shrugged, feeling the lie roll easily off her lips. “Hazel’s older, Santana wasn’t established and she traveled a lot for her job, so they agreed that Hazel should have full custody.”

                Mercedes chewed on her lip in thought, but then got distracted by a pink and purple tutu. “Oh my god, is this not the cutest thing ever?”

                Quinn chuckled. “It is cute.”

                Conversation was momentarily halted why they got caught up in newborn clothes, but eventually the conversation cycled back. “Have you met him?”

                “Who, Philip?” Mercedes nodded. “Yes. Before Hazel took off they were working out a custody agreement so he came over a couple of times.”

                “What was Satan, Jr. like?”

                Quinn ignored the old nickname, and thought about the little boy that she didn’t spent much time thinking about. “Like all the best parts of Santana, honestly. He’s very sweet, and kind, and thoughtful. He’s a good kid.”

                “This must be really hard on Santana,” Mercedes said, as if she suddenly realized the truth of that statement.

                Quinn agreed. “Very hard. She acts like it’s not, but you know how Santana is about being completely open.”

                It was Quinn’s turn to be interrupted by a phone call, as her phone started buzzing in her pocket. In the past she wouldn’t have even had her phone on while she was out with Mercedes, but because of Santana’s job she was afraid to ever completely shut her phone off for fear of missing the chance to say good-bye. No matter how many times Santana tried to convince her of otherwise, she still had that worry.

                Quinn pulled the phone out just enough to check the caller, but then frowned. “Mercedes, don’t hate me….” Quinn showed her the caller.

                “Speaking of secrets,” Mercedes mumbled, as Quinn connected the call.

                “Hey, sweetie! How are you? I’m out with Mercedes.”

                She stepped away from her friend to have a little privacy and Mercedes loitered over towards the strollers, keeping one eye on her friend, the other on the merchandise. There was a lot of hand gestures going on on Quinn’s end, and lots of smiling. Mercedes kept herself busy googling each of the strollers hat she came across, in the end settling on the same stroller that Junior had picked for his babies. She sent a picture of it to Sam, and he sent her back one of him doing the thumbs up.  

                Quinn made her way back over to where Mercedes was once she got off the phone 10 minutes later. Mercedes proudly wheeled out a pink and silver stroller. “So when are you going to tell Santana about _that_?” she questioned

                Quinn momentarily looked guilty, but it didn’t last. “When I need to,” she answered.

 

                Santana was enjoying the comfort of an empty apartment, knowing that this was a luxury that she wouldn’t likely to get for the next couple of days. Her version of packing was tossing one of Quinn’s pair of shoes into a box, before saying screw it, and letting Rachel deal with it all once she got there After that intense work out, she was now stretched out on the couch, propping her feet up on a stack of nearby boxes. She pulled her laptop to her, her earlier statement about working out the logistics of their move playing in the back of her mind.

                If she had had any inkling to, she probably could have facilitated their move 10 times more efficiently than whatever method Rachel would come up with. The thousands of hours she had logged doing just that had made her a pro at it, but frankly, with all that was going on in her life, she had no desire to do so. Still, she opened up Google Maps and typed in Quinn’s apartment’s address, scrolling out just enough that it looked like a grid spread out in front of her. If she was at work, she’d have far more detailed maps to look at, but for what she was doing, this was good enough.

                Almost on auto-pilot, she mapped out a half dozen routes from Quinn’s apartment to their house. If she used UPS method (all right turns, no lefts, no U-Turns), she could turn a 20 minute trip into 11. She typed in her old address, and watched as the Google world shifted to head across town. She zoomed out, and zoomed out, and zoomed out, until she was looking at individual Boston neighborhoods. The house that they had found was within walking distance of Harvard and MIT. It was also five miles away from Emerson, but on opposite sides of the Charles. Santana’s eyes briefly trailed over Back Bay, before she scrolled out again, until Boston was no longer the focal point, and the nearby townships were visible. She sat back on the couch and just stared at the screen for a long time fighting the urge.  

 

_Santana rubbed at her eyes, momentarily giving them a break from the pages and pages of inventory that were laid out in front of her. She stretched her back out, before pulling the closest stack of numbers towards her, nudging her laptop to the side to make room. She heard the floor board squeak its warning before a tired voice said, “Come to bed; you can finish that in the morning.”_

_Santana didn’t look up, but she cracked a side smile. “Wanky.”_

_Glo…Hazel sighed. “You’re like a little school boy; I didn’t mean it like that. It’s late. I have to be up early for work, and I don’t want you waking me when you get in the bed.”_

_Santana looked up, then, feeling guilty. She didn’t want to stop what she was doing, but she didn’t want to keep the other woman up either. “Give me like 30, Hazel?”_

_Hazel gave a tired look, but years of living with Jenna had left her undemanding about her own needs. She went into the kitchen, and turned on the teapot. “Do you want a cup,” she called to Santana once the water had boiled and the coffee pot was whistling its readiness._

_Santana rubbed at her eyes. “Yeah, that’d be great, thanks Hazel.”_

_Hazel sat the mug of tea in front of Santana, and curled up on the other end of the sofa. Well, as much as she could with her belly in the way. She craned her neck to see what was in front of Santana. “What are you doing?”_

_“Working.”_

_Hazel rolled her eyes. She may be submissive, but she had spent enough time around Santana to pick up on some of her habits. “I see that. I meant specifically.”_

_Specifically, she was looking at an unending list of numbers and items, expecting something to just pop off of the page for her. “I’m auditing five years’ worth of inventory for Buckley Air Force Base.”_

_“Why?”_

_Santana gave a small laugh. “That’s what I get paid to do.”_

_“Inventory?”_

_“Military installments are funded by tax payers, so every expense needs to be accounted for and, if necessary, explained.”_

_“I thought you were a logistician.”_

_“I am. It’s not all moves, and recovery, it’s keeping up with stuff, too, Hazel.”_

_Glo…Hazel cringed at the sound of the name. Santana attempted to work in the name ‘Hazel’ as much as possible, both to get herself used to thinking of Downward Facing Smile as Hazel and not Gloria, and to get Hazel used to hearing and responding to that name. She knew Gloria hated responding to it, but all it took was for her to miss responding to the name one time, to the wrong person, and the whole thing would be a bust._

_“Besides, I’m not doing inventory. I’m going over the inventory reports. There’s something here that I’m missing.”_

_Hazel startled suddenly, as if shocked, and Santana noticed. “Something wrong?”_

_She shook her head. “Just the baby.”_

_Santana was more attentive. “Everything, okay?”_

_“I think we woke him up.”_

_Without asking, Santana placed a hand on Hazel’s belly. Startled by the contact, Hazel gently angled herself away from the touch. Santana curled her fingers away, adjusting on the couch._

_“Sorry.”_

_Hazel merely nodded, concentrating on the feeling inside of her. “I think he has hiccups.”_

_“They get those?”_

_“You get them, don’t you?”_

_“Well, yeah, but I’m a human.”_

_Hazel almost laughed. “So is he.”_

_“What are you missing?”_

_“If I knew that, I’d be in bed by now.” Hazel gave something resembling a smile._

_“If you don’t know what it is that you’re missing something, how do you know you’re missing anything?”_

_Santana gave a shrug. “Call it my Mexican Third Eye.”_

_Hazel relaxed, and Santana guessed it was because the baby had stopped doing whatever the baby had been doing. Santana watched her intently. “What’s it like?”_

_“What?”_

_She gestured vaguely. “The kicks, the hiccups, the…it of it all. You’ve got a human growing inside of you!”_

_“I swear you’re more excited about him than I am.” Hazel shrugged. “Mostly, I feel the uncertainty. I…never wanted kids, that was Jenna’s thing. Maybe it will be my thing now.”’_

_Santana bit down on the corner of her lip. She couldn’t help but to think about Quinn. She couldn’t help but wonder how she and_ Martin _were doing. Were they planning on having kids together? Could Santana bear to be involved in a life she wasn’t a part of?_

_Santana checked back into the present, and what Hazel had just said. “Hazel, I’m sorry if you felt-,”_

_Hazel cut her off. “Look, I’m not going to blame you for that. You’re right, I probably would have spent my life regretting it if I had an abortion, but…I still don’t think I’m a mother.”_

_“You don’t have to be,” Santana said, softly. She felt guilty for even talking Hazel out of the abortion in the first place. She just knew Quinn, and her regrets, and…but it hadn’t been her right. And Glora…Hazel…whomever,_ wasn’t _Quinn. She was her own person, able to figure out what she wanted without any feedback from the peanut gallery._

_“It’s too late to abort, and I wouldn’t, now, anyway.”_

_“There’s adoption.”_

_“You would say that after you went on about your friend?”_

_“Because_ she _regrets giving up her daughter. Every day. But you aren’t her, Hazel. If…you don’t see yourself loving him, why not give him to someone that does?”_

_“Like?”_

_Santana swallowed, but sat straighter. “Me.” It was something that she had been thinking about for a while, though she surprised herself by saying it out loud._

_She could see Hazel considering for the briefest of minutes. “Santana you’re 22, and-,”_

_“And?”_

_“And you were just rejected.”_

_“Thanks for the reminder.”_

_Hazel put a hand over Santana’s. “What I mean by that is that you’re only doing this because you were rejected. You’re only here because of that.”_

_“Not true.”_

_Hazel stared intensely into Santana’s eyes. “If I wasn’t pregnant, would you have bothered helping me out? Would you be doing any of this?” She gestured, vaguely._

_“Yes.”_

_“Why?”_

_“Because no one deserves to go through what you went through.”_

_“But people do, and you’re not off rescuing everyone else.”_

_“I don’t know everyone else.”_

_“So that’s why you did this?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“And you’re sure it has nothing to do with how much you hate_ her _?” Santana’s face tightened only slightly, but Hazel had learned to read even the slightest changes in emotion. Santana realized she was being read, and let her guard relax. “Because if you hate her, how in the world could you love him?” She placed a hand on her abdomen to reinforce her statement.  “You understand that this child will be related to her, right? The Healy blood will be inside of him, and he may end up looking like her? Have the same expressions as her? You really think that you can love that?”_

_Sudden clarity came to Santana. “Is that what you’re worried about?” Hazel blinked back tears, nodding sadly. “I never wanted this, and…what if I don’t love him?”  Santana pulled her into her arms._

_“You will.”_

_“You don’t know that.”_

_“No,” Santana agreed. “I don’t. The baby will be related to Jenna, yeah, but he will also be part you.”_

_Hazel laughed harshly. “Which part? The part that never raised a hand to protect myself, or the part that allowed myself to stay with her for so long?”_

_“The part of you that refuses to give up, no matter what.” Hazel said nothing, and they just sat in the embrace. “You’re wrong: I don’t hate Jenna. She…scares me, in more ways than one. She’s, like that character Two-Face. One part’s good, and one part’s evil. There are a lot of things that Jenna and I have in common, and Jenna’s this constant reminder of what my bad characteristics would look like if they went to the extreme. She drugged me, jumped me, and dumped me in a cell for more than a day, and as much as that makes me_ really _angry, me being here has nothing to do with my dislike of that woman. Me helping you has less to do with you being pregnant, or you ‘belonging to Jenna’ than it does with you just being safe.”_

_“Until Quinn comes calling, and then you’ll be running back to Boston.’_

_Santana shook her head and the thought. “That won’t happen.”_

_“Which part, Quinn calling, or you going running?”_

_“Either. I’m going back to Boston once the baby’s born, yes, because I have to, because my life, and job, and school are in Boston, but I said I was going to help, and I mean it. I’m not just going to disappear on you. I’m your comadre, and that’s something I take seriously.”_

_“With everything that’s going on in your life, how could you possibly take care of him, if I did want to give him up? Who’s going to watch him between classes, and when you go on your ‘vacations’? Or when you work this out with Quinn, and she decides she doesn’t want to raise someone else’s kid?”_

_When it was put that way…but there was no she and Quinn, there would never be a she and Quinn. It was time that Santana realized that. Hazel placed a hand on Santana’s cheek while she tried to come up with an answer. Hazel gave a tired smile, that was part admiring., part exasperated. “Mighty Talos. I can’t fault you, for trying to be the hero to everybody. I may not be mother material, but this guy, he needs to come first. That’s the least I can do for him.”_

_Hazel sipped at her tea, and Santana picked up her mug and did the same. “Sorry for keeping you up.” Hazel waved the words away. “Thanks for the tea.”_

_“It was Pe’s favorite.” Santana gave her a sideways look at the voluntary mention. Hazel went on without prodding. “She goes through bouts of insomnia. Whenever something was on her mind, she would stay up for days, and the nights she did sleep, sometimes it was for as little as a few hours at a time, so she’d get jittery.” Hazel lifted the cup. “This helped to calm her down.”_

_“That must have been fun, dealing with her when she was like that.”_

_Hazel shrugged. “It was no different than when she slept well. Pe was used to surviving off of few hours of sleep; she grew up in a military household.”_

_Something that Santana should have realized a long time ago just occurred to her. “Jenna has money.”_

_Hazel gave her a strange look “Yes.”_

_“I mean serious money. Military families usually don’t have the kind of digs that Jenna has.”_

_“Her father is a general.”_

_“Which means his salary is between what $100,000 to $200,000 a year?”_

_“Yes,” Hazel said in a voice that clearly said she doubted Santana’s intelligence at the moment, “but generally speaking, generals don’t typically come from disadvantaged backgrounds.”_

_“No,” Santana agreed. “They usually come from families of clout.” Gloria, Santana knew, came from the same such family. She was sure that Bryne and Paulson knew everything that there was to know about Gloria (there had to be a reason that Bryne had been allowed to help set up the ‘accident’), but Santana didn’t really know anything about her. “How’d you meet Jenna?”_

_Gloria fidgeted with her mug. “I never_ met _Pe,_ _not the way you think about meeting people. One day she was just in my life. In the world I grew up in, we don’t fall in love, we fall into business deals. I was groomed to be Bug’s wife. She was always around at events and dinners. We weren’t particularly fond of each other until Bug and I got engaged, and she became interested in a serious of lenses that we were developing at my lab. We started spending more time together, and you know her: she has a penchant for wanting things someone else has.”_

 _That Jenna had stolen Gloria from her brother was not surprising in the least, what was surprising was the other things that Hazel said. “_ Your _lab?”_

_Hazel gave a bitter grimace. “Yes. I was an optical engineer before we got together.”_

_That must have been a big step down, from being an engineer to being Jenna’s punching bag._

_“Optics is lasers and stuff, right?”_

_“Lasers pretty much saved the field, but it’s more than just that.” Hazel’s eyes trailed to the top of one of her stacks.  “They really keep up with how many pens they have on site?”_

_It was a subtle attempt to change the subject, and Santana allowed for the subject to change.      “Yes.”_

_Hazel picked up the paper, and because there was nothing classified on it, or anything else she was currently looking at, Santana allowed her to do so, making a mental note where exactly it belonged._

_“Buckley really spends this much a year on_ pens?”

                Santana leaned over to look at the paper, smile on face. “It’s really not all that much if you think about it…” she cursed, softly, causing Hazel to look at her in curiosity.

                “What?” _Hazel demanded, as Santana started pulling papers towards her._

_“I think my baby just kicked,” Santana said nonsensically._

_“What?”_

_“It’s_ not _a lot of money,” she said in answer, clarifying nothing. She pulled up the reports on her laptop for the pens supply for the last five years, doing mental calculations at the same time she was pulling out her physical calculator. “Holy shit! I found it!”_

_“Found what?”_

_“A trail.”_

_Tomorrow Santana would have to make a trip to the base, demand personnel records, though if she was right about her hunch, she was sure she wouldn’t have to look too far. There were only a handful of people who could be held responsible._

_Hazel was looking at her curiously, so she spoke her thoughts because sometimes saying something aloud helps to sort it out. “When it comes to budgetary spending, the fiscal year ends September 30 th, so around the end of the year you see a decrease in essential spending, and an increase in petty spending._

_“By that time all essential items have either been bought, or put on like a ‘wish list’ for next year. Government money doesn’t roll over. If you don’t spend it, you don’t get more the next year; actually you’re far more likely to get your budget cut, the thinking being that if you’re not spending the money that we give you, why would we give you more? So you see this mad scramble to get rid of money, so you see a lot of purchases for pens, new keyboards, mice, company picnics, etc. All legit purchases, as long as you can justify it. For the last three years, Buckley has followed that trend to a T. Perfectly actually. Their personnel increased by 10%, so did the amount of money they spent on pens, and the amount of pens they purchased in the month of August and September was 27.5% more than what they purchased during any other months. Perfectly logical.”_

_“What’s the problem?”_

_Santana showed Hazel a handful of items lists. “This is the requests, and this is the inventory. Three years ago, Buckley switched to a different kind of standard pen, one that is $.03 cheaper per pen than the ones they were using. Cheaper pens, yet the cost off the pens is exactly the same. So is the amount of pens inventoried. They can’t both be the same! If you spent more money on cheaper pens, there should be more pens. There should not be the same amount of pens, but more money spent. You see?”_

_“So somebody’s stealing pens? Seriously does Special Circumstances care about that?”_

_“General services,” Santana corrected. “And no. But they aren’t stealing pens, they’re stealing money.”_

_“How do you know that?”_

_“Because no one is going to falsify a government document just to pocket a box of pens.”_

_“What if they really just wanted pens. They could be nice pens.”_

_Santana was a bit surprised by the playful tone of Hazel’s statement. “Because taking a box of pens home from the office can get you reprimanded, possibly fired, but actually falsifying a government document is a felony, and no one commits those for office supplies. Besides, if they were stealing actual supplies you’d have to worry about moving the merchandise. Pens, packs of paper, ink, are all low ticket items that you’d have to move a lot of to make it worth your while. The more merch were talking about, the more breadcrumbs you set down, the more likely you are to get caught. Money is more fluid. I just have to find out who is doing it, and how much they’ve managed to siphon off.”_

_Santana was back to talking to herself. “In order to pull it off, though, the person is probably faking the purchase orders. They’d have to have the legitimate purchase order, with the correct number of supplies on it, and then the fake one that was invoiced with the higher price on it.  I’m pretty certain that if I go back over every non-essential purchase for the last three years, I’ll find the same pattern.”_

_Hazel sat in thought for a minute. “You’re not going to bed tonight are you?”_

_Santana was momentarily brought out of her work. Santana would need to go back over all of the petty purchase invoices and inventory to make sure her theory was, in fact, correct, then, in the morning she’d need to make a call to have employee records, she’d need time logs, date stamps. She raised her head. “No.”_

_Hazel nodded, getting to her feet with only a little bit of difficulty. “Good night, Santana.”_

_“Night, Haze,” she mumbled, mind already back to her work. The Post-Its were already showing the same pattern as the pens. Santana smiled to herself._ Even the smartest person always left a trail.

                Santana startled from her dream when she heard a knock at the door Her computer screen was still open, Framingham showing on the very edge of the screen. She closed the laptop, getting to her feet at the very distinctive sound of the knocking growing musical. Santana sighed, fixing a smile to her face. After all, she had invited this beast.

                She opened the door. “Rachel!”

                Rachel pushed past her brusquely. “No time to talk, Santana,” the woman said, pushing her way into the apartment. “We’re on a very strict timeline.” She breathed out deeply, as if to center herself. Santana rolled her eyes, and hid her smile.

**A/N: So my non-related question, and for anyone who wants to answer please PM me. I’ve noticed a trend in Fanfiction (mostly Glee, I haven’t really seen it as widespread on more adult shows or books) where every other story seems to feature a g!p, and so my question is this: why? Not being like facetious or malicious, just curious not only do these girls have penises, they have the biggest, thickest, amazingest penis in existence and yet still somehow managing to hide it all these years. I think I’ve come across maybe one story with Brittany having a five-inch penis. Like I’m not knocking it or anything, I’m just trying to understand. As a bi female who tends to lean more towards women than men, it’s hard enough finding stories about women loving women, falling in love with women, having lasting relationships with women, hence why there’s fanfiction. I know it’s fantasy, but with so little representation in a male driven society, I guess I just don’t understand why there’s so many stories about women who ‘have a little extra something’ between their legs. (Note: this post is not directed toward or meant to offend any actual Intersex people, or trans people (which G!P is not).) I’d love to hear feedback.**

 

**A/N: Okay, so first and foremost my apologies. No more promises from me in the future about quick turnaround chapters b/c obviously…yeah this wasn’t two weeks. Life just kind of gets in the way of living sometimes, lol. Also, this chapter is not the one that I had written out two years ago, it would more accurately be described as a filler chapter. Um…next chapter will be posted when I get it posted; sorry I’m too flaky to say anything better than that. Thanks for reading, and the reviews! Also, I’ve got a question at the bottom of this chapter, unrelated to Surviving Happily Ever After.**

                Santana and Quinn were just gearing up for another round, when a buzz on their intercom halted their efforts. This time Santana really did grunt, and Quinn laughed, placing a kiss on her head before she found her robe and put it on. Quinn looked out the peep-hole before answering the door. “It’s Mercedes and Sam!” she called over her shoulder.

                Santana gave a loud enough grunt to be heard in the next room; Quinn ignored it, opening her apartment door with a smile. “Hey ‘Cedes, Sam.”

                Mercedes wasted no time with pleasantries. “Please explain to me why Rachel called me at 8:00 this morning, ranting about having to come to Boston.”

                Quinn stepped back so they could walk through. She pointed at her wife. “That’s all her doing. She told Rachel her moving plan, and Rachel has taken it upon herself to designate herself as the moving coordinator for the move.”

                Mercedes shook her head. “That girl.” She looked over at Quinn suspiciously. “You look thoroughly fucked,” she stage-whispered. Sam blushed bright red, matching Quinn’s blush.

                 Santana appeared in the doorway behind them. “Naturally.”

                “About time, too,” Mercedes noted. “You’re not you, when you’re horny.”

                Santana snorted. Mercedes came fully into the apartment. There was more of a wobble to her steps now. “Hey guess what!”

                “The baby kicked last night,” Sam said, before anyone had a chance to guess. “Finally!”

                “All night, actually,” Mercedes added.

                “She’s going to have mad dance skills, just like us!” Sam started to execute a belly roll, lifting a corner of his shirt to expose his abs a little.

                Santana’s lip curled up. “So…you’re saying that your daughter’s going to be a stripper?” she deadpanned.

                “Quinn,” Mercedes said in a warning tone. “Get your girl.”

                Quinn cocked her head at her wife. “Really, Sweetie?”

                “What?” Santana demanded. “Lips started it. How is he going to do stripper moves in my living room, and not expect me to make that comment?”

                “Is this what we’ve got to look forward to for the entire length of the renos?”

                Before an answer could be had, Sam’s phone went off, and he was reaching into the pocket of his jeans to answer it. He squinted at the screen for a moment before recognition flashed across his face. “I’ve got to take this! Be right back.”

                He excused himself, pausing to place a kiss on Mercedes forehead before he exited the room. Mercedes leaned forward once Sam was gone, lowering her voice. “Thank you guys, again, for asking Sam to do the remodel. With the baby, and being out of a job, he’s been in a bit of a funk lately. Now that he’s got this to look forward to, he’s got a spark that I haven’t seen since he moved out here.”

                Quinn placed her hand down on top of her friend’s. “It’s no problem,” Quinn said. She started to say more, but Santana cut her off. She lifted Mercedes’ hand off of Quinn’s.

                “Okay, no. Let me stop you right there, Aretha, so we can get something straight: I don’t care about Sam’s personal problems; they aren’t mine. We hired the over large guppy because he’s desperate and he has something to prove. That means he’ll work good and he’ll work cheap. I checked his references back in Lima, and they checked out. Don’t get it twisted. He got the job because we expect him to do a good job, no other reason than that. This is not charity, this is business, pure and simple. If it seems like this is something that is over his big-lipped head, he’s on his ass, got it?”

                Mercedes poked Quinn, “Doesn’t really have the same snap to it, anymore, does it.”

                Santana humped. She was gearing up to reassert just how much snap she still had, when Sam came back, ending his phone call as he did. “Hey, so sorry about that. One of my guys from Lima knows a few contractors here, and that was one of their recommendations.”

                “How’d that go?” Mercedes questioned.

                Sam flashed her a smile. “Great. He just finished up a project, so he’s free to work, and he got me a great deal on windows!” He sat down, pulling out his laptop. “I know you guys want to get started as soon as possible,” he talked as he booted up the program. “So I came up with a couple of design plans, and as soon as you guys give me the go-ahead, I’m ready to go.”               

                Mercedes wasn’t kidding. Sam had spent a lot of time working on their plans. He had done a 3-D layout for all of the rooms in the house, and on digital design it was starting to look really close to the way that they pictured their house would eventually look. Right now, between the landscaping issues, and the problem with the front, the house looked kind of scary from the outside, and unfortunate inside. They were expecting it to take a full year or two before the house was really going to come together, but they knew that going into it.  

                First on the list was their bedroom. They would be temporarily sleeping in the in-law suite, while they did minor updates to the master. Santana wanted the windows replaced for more modern, energy efficient ones, Quinn wanted the window seat to be more rustic, and have storage, and they both wanted a few built-ins and updates to the closet. The bathroom, too, needed some special love, but that was further down on the renovation list. They could wait a little for their en-suite get away.

                Top priority was the kitchen. Sam showed them three different designs that he had come up with after working with an interior designer, the least complicated design looking at a six-week completion time frame, and the most complex ten. 

                “We may have to move in with you guys for a few weeks after all,” Quinn said. Right now, the kitchen was mostly functional, but all of the appliances were older than they were, and the floor desperately needed to be fixed. If they did a full gut on it, they wouldn’t have anywhere to cook for a few weeks.

                “Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Santana whispered.

                “You’re always welcome,” Mercedes said over Santana’s statement.

                “Hey, yeah, and if you’re still there by the time the baby gets here, you can help out! Like live in baby-sitters.”

                “Yeah, like that’s _ever_ going to happen,” Santana snapped. “We’re not coming anywhere near your spawn once it hatches.”

                Again her statement was ignored. It was hard for anyone to take her seriously about that when it was on Sam’s list to turn one of the rooms into a kid friendly space, not just for when Mercedes and Sam and/or Brittany and Tamara needed a babysitter, but just for when any of their friends with kids came over with so that they would still feel comfortable coming after the babies were born.  

                Sam walked them through the remainder of the bottom floor. “I’m pretty clear on what’s going to happen downstairs, but just so I have in mind what’s coming, what did you want to do with the upstairs?”

                “As far as the renovations you would be doing, there’s not much. All the hallway really needs is some added light, so we wanted to open up the back wall and put a window in, if possible. Me and San can handle doing most of the rest ourselves.”

                Santana’s eyebrows lifted. Quinn fixed her with a look, daring her to challenge her on that. Their stare down was interrupted by the sound of a phone going off, this time it was Santana’s. She looked at the caller and was already moving out of the room.

                “H’lo?”

                “So, how’d your wife like it?”

                “Chandy-man!” Santana switched her phone from one ear to the other, and toed the door to the bedroom closed. “She’s still squeamish about the idea of raw deer meat, or of me hunting, but once it was cooked, she was pretty hooked.”

                “And that rub? She loved the rub, didn’t she?”

                “She totally orgasmed in her mouth!”

                “I knew it! No one can resist the rub. Best spice combo in the Tri-State area,” he said proudly. “Anybody can grill, but it takes a real man,” he paused, “or woman, to get the seasoning _just_ right.”

                “Nice correction.”

                “Hey, no, I learned my lesson from Hal: never piss off a crack shot lesbian with a gun. You really impressed the guys with your shooting. When’re you coming out again?”

                Santana ran through her mental calendar. “We’re going to be busy for the next three weekends, for sure. We just got a new place, and we’re moving in this weekend. After that, I wouldn’t mind going out after another buck.”

                There was noise in the background, and Santana listened but couldn’t make anything out.

                “Unfortunately the season’s over. We lucked up and got an extended season when you came, but deer’s over until the end of October, early November. Right now it’s Bobcat and Coyote, which it looks like you’re going to miss, too. Wild Turkey’s next. Shouldn’t have any problem trying to convince the misses about eating Turkey. You Turkey or Ham folks for the holidays?”

                “Turkey.”

                “There you go! The wife shouldn’t have any problem with that, then, right?”

                “I’ll run it by her.”

                “Cool. See you at the range.”

                “See you.”

                The phone hung up. Santana walked back into the apartment proper, walking past Sam, Mercedes and Quinn and heading into the kitchen. She pulled the bottle of rub from their small pantry, filled two salad dressing Tupperware containers with the mixture, and snapped the little red lids on them securely. She made sure the lids were on tight before she slipped both in her purse, and rejoined her wife and company, who were going back and forth over two different kitchen designs.

                She purposely interrupted Sam in the middle of what he was saying, just because.  “I needs to see the kitchen plans again, lips. You better have made plenty of room for the pantry, cause that postage stamp size one here’s not going to cut it if my woman’s going to be cooking for me all the time in our new crib.”

                “Always charming, Santana,” Mercedes said. “Always.”

                Santana gave her a wink, as Sam showed her the plans.  

                “Hey, I had some questions about what you wanted to do with the basement-”

                “What about it?”

                “I’m building a safe room?” He questioned uncertainly.

                Santana kind of rolled her eyes. “Not a safe room, a preparedness room…you know, in case of Zombies.”

                Mercedes gave her an ‘are you kidding’ look, directing it to Quinn, who shot her back her, ‘it’s Santana’ look.

                “Really, Satan?”

                Mercedes might have looked doubtful, but she knew Sam was impressed and possibly trying to figure out how he could built their own in the brownstone.

                “How many more news stories do you have to hear about a guy chewing some other guys face off before you realize that it’s coming? I would stop thinking I’m crazy, and make one of your own. Either that, or make sure you have a full proof plan of getting your raggedy asses over here so you can be protected.” In reality the room _was_ a safe room, but not even her best friends needed to know that. “There’s only a small window of opportunity that I’d be willing to hold off before I seal us off down in there.”

                “Did you know she was this crazy when you married her,” Mercedes questioned. Quinn kissed Santana on the forehead in answer, and Santana sat back smugly.

                “All I need you to do is rough ready it,” Santana informed Sam. “And I’ve got an electrician already lined up, so you don’t have to worry about that, either.”

                “An electrician,” Mercedes questioned skeptically. “Cause that’s something normal people have in their back pocket.”

                “Quinn got me an old school Nintendo for Christmas. I had to have it converted so that I could play on it. I know a girl.”

                Mercedes gave Santana a skeptical look, but didn’t say anything further.

 

                Rachel called to let them know that she was on her way, and she would be there in precisely four hours and fifteen minutes, which prompted Sam to want to go to Home Depot and then the house to make sure that the move didn’t interfere with the start of the renos. Santana was left at the apartment to pack, and Quinn and Mercedes ended up at The Baby Emporium.

                Inside the store, the two friends easily fell into each other’s stride. Mercedes got a cart, and leaned heavily against it. “As much fun as being pregnant is,” Mercedes huffed, “I’m just ready to meet my daughter already.”

                A hand fell to her belly as she said it, and a lazy smile fell over her face. Quinn looked her friend over in kind of amazement. She didn’t get the chance to enjoy any part of her pregnancy back in high school. She didn’t even think that pregnancy was something you _could_ enjoy, but seeing her friends’ reaction to the pregnancy told her that when it was something that you were expecting, or in a better place than being a homeless 16-year-old in between baby daddies, that it could actually be something nice.

                “I can’t wait to meet her either,” Quinn said, sincerely. Honestly she was dying to see what Mercedes and Sam had cooking in there.

                They hovered around the cribs for a few minutes, but Mercedes seemed to have this obsession with cribs and had yet to find one that she truly liked.

                “Santana’s really excited about it, too, though she won’t admit it. She’s looking for a baby to spoil.”

Mercedes laughed.  “Who would have thought that Santana Lopez was good with kids?” Quinn laughed, too. Who would have? “Are you really going to wait to have kids?”

                Quinn let her eyes get distracted by playpens. “Santana wants to.”

                “But you don’t?”

                Quinn didn’t physically shrug, but her voice kind of did. “I turn 30 in less than a week,” she said in answer. “Yeah, there’s time, but there’s not really that long that we _can_ wait, but I understand why she wants to.”

                Mercedes bit on her lip, looking like she really wanted to not ask, but she just couldn’t help herself, or her need to know everything.

                “So, Santana really has a son?”

                Quinn nodded. “She really does.”

                “But she doesn’t know where he is?”

                She shook her head.

                “What happened?”

                Quinn and Santana had already settled on a story for when their friends asked. “Hazel took off with him, and she has full legal custody, so there’s nothing Santana can do about it.”

                “What about getting a lawyer and fighting the custody agreement?”

                Quinn shook her head. “Santana doesn’t even know where they are.”

                “I thought she was like a super-secret agent. Doesn’t she like have people that could find him?”

                Quinn chuckled, but fought down an unpleasant feeling in her stomach. “She does logistics for the General Services Agency. She’s not really that kind of connected, and even if she was, she doesn’t want to get into a fight about custody. Those get messy, and Santana’s thoughts are more about Phil’s safety and well-being. She thinks that Hazel had a reason for disappearing, and although she doesn’t like it, she’s not going to do something that may end up hurting Phil.”

                Mercedes looked surprised and impressed. “Not the Santana we used to know, huh,” she said, somewhat in awe.

                “Sometimes I wonder if we ever used to know her,” Quinn remarked, mostly to herself. It was something she kind of thought about often; Philip wasn’t the only thing she had kept to herself over the years.

                This earned her a sideways look, but Mercedes didn’t comment on the statement. They made their way over to clothes. “So, Hazel’s Phil’s mom?”

                “They’re both Phil’s mom.”

                “Yea, but who gave birth?”

                Quinn sighed because she realized that once Santana and she did have kids together, this was something that she would have to field all of her life, and not just with her friends. It wasn’t just a burden of the gay parent, but any kind of adoptive parent. People wondering who was the ‘real’ parent. This was something she knew Shelby probably had to deal with all the time, because there was still this huge stigma towards adoption. 

                “Santana did, but it doesn’t matter, not to them. They were equal partners.”

                “Then how did Hazel get full custody?”

                Quinn shrugged, feeling the lie roll easily off her lips. “Hazel’s older, Santana wasn’t established and she traveled a lot for her job, so they agreed that Hazel should have full custody.”

                Mercedes chewed on her lip in thought, but then got distracted by a pink and purple tutu. “Oh my god, is this not the cutest thing ever?”

                Quinn chuckled. “It is cute.”

                Conversation was momentarily halted why they got caught up in newborn clothes, but eventually the conversation cycled back. “Have you met him?”

                “Who, Philip?” Mercedes nodded. “Yes. Before Hazel took off they were working out a custody agreement so he came over a couple of times.”

                “What was Satan, Jr. like?”

                Quinn ignored the old nickname, and thought about the little boy that she didn’t spent much time thinking about. “Like all the best parts of Santana, honestly. He’s very sweet, and kind, and thoughtful. He’s a good kid.”

                “This must be really hard on Santana,” Mercedes said, as if she suddenly realized the truth of that statement.

                Quinn agreed. “Very hard. She acts like it’s not, but you know how Santana is about being completely open.”

                It was Quinn’s turn to be interrupted by a phone call, as her phone started buzzing in her pocket. In the past she wouldn’t have even had her phone on while she was out with Mercedes, but because of Santana’s job she was afraid to ever completely shut her phone off for fear of missing the chance to say good-bye. No matter how many times Santana tried to convince her of otherwise, she still had that worry.

                Quinn pulled the phone out just enough to check the caller, but then frowned. “Mercedes, don’t hate me….” Quinn showed her the caller.

                “Speaking of secrets,” Mercedes mumbled, as Quinn connected the call.

                “Hey, sweetie! How are you? I’m out with Mercedes.”

                She stepped away from her friend to have a little privacy and Mercedes loitered over towards the strollers, keeping one eye on her friend, the other on the merchandise. There was a lot of hand gestures going on on Quinn’s end, and lots of smiling. Mercedes kept herself busy googling each of the strollers hat she came across, in the end settling on the same stroller that Junior had picked for his babies. She sent a picture of it to Sam, and he sent her back one of him doing the thumbs up.  

                Quinn made her way back over to where Mercedes was once she got off the phone 10 minutes later. Mercedes proudly wheeled out a pink and silver stroller. “So when are you going to tell Santana about _that_?” she questioned

                Quinn momentarily looked guilty, but it didn’t last. “When I need to,” she answered.

 

                Santana was enjoying the comfort of an empty apartment, knowing that this was a luxury that she wouldn’t likely to get for the next couple of days. Her version of packing was tossing one of Quinn’s pair of shoes into a box, before saying screw it, and letting Rachel deal with it all once she got there After that intense work out, she was now stretched out on the couch, propping her feet up on a stack of nearby boxes. She pulled her laptop to her, her earlier statement about working out the logistics of their move playing in the back of her mind.

                If she had had any inkling to, she probably could have facilitated their move 10 times more efficiently than whatever method Rachel would come up with. The thousands of hours she had logged doing just that had made her a pro at it, but frankly, with all that was going on in her life, she had no desire to do so. Still, she opened up Google Maps and typed in Quinn’s apartment’s address, scrolling out just enough that it looked like a grid spread out in front of her. If she was at work, she’d have far more detailed maps to look at, but for what she was doing, this was good enough.

                Almost on auto-pilot, she mapped out a half dozen routes from Quinn’s apartment to their house. If she used UPS method (all right turns, no lefts, no U-Turns), she could turn a 20 minute trip into 11. She typed in her old address, and watched as the Google world shifted to head across town. She zoomed out, and zoomed out, and zoomed out, until she was looking at individual Boston neighborhoods. The house that they had found was within walking distance of Harvard and MIT. It was also five miles away from Emerson, but on opposite sides of the Charles. Santana’s eyes briefly trailed over Back Bay, before she scrolled out again, until Boston was no longer the focal point, and the nearby townships were visible. She sat back on the couch and just stared at the screen for a long time fighting the urge.  

 

_Santana rubbed at her eyes, momentarily giving them a break from the pages and pages of inventory that were laid out in front of her. She stretched her back out, before pulling the closest stack of numbers towards her, nudging her laptop to the side to make room. She heard the floor board squeak its warning before a tired voice said, “Come to bed; you can finish that in the morning.”_

_Santana didn’t look up, but she cracked a side smile. “Wanky.”_

_Glo…Hazel sighed. “You’re like a little school boy; I didn’t mean it like that. It’s late. I have to be up early for work, and I don’t want you waking me when you get in the bed.”_

_Santana looked up, then, feeling guilty. She didn’t want to stop what she was doing, but she didn’t want to keep the other woman up either. “Give me like 30, Hazel?”_

_Hazel gave a tired look, but years of living with Jenna had left her undemanding about her own needs. She went into the kitchen, and turned on the teapot. “Do you want a cup,” she called to Santana once the water had boiled and the coffee pot was whistling its readiness._

_Santana rubbed at her eyes. “Yeah, that’d be great, thanks Hazel.”_

_Hazel sat the mug of tea in front of Santana, and curled up on the other end of the sofa. Well, as much as she could with her belly in the way. She craned her neck to see what was in front of Santana. “What are you doing?”_

_“Working.”_

_Hazel rolled her eyes. She may be submissive, but she had spent enough time around Santana to pick up on some of her habits. “I see that. I meant specifically.”_

_Specifically, she was looking at an unending list of numbers and items, expecting something to just pop off of the page for her. “I’m auditing five years’ worth of inventory for Buckley Air Force Base.”_

_“Why?”_

_Santana gave a small laugh. “That’s what I get paid to do.”_

_“Inventory?”_

_“Military installments are funded by tax payers, so every expense needs to be accounted for and, if necessary, explained.”_

_“I thought you were a logistician.”_

_“I am. It’s not all moves, and recovery, it’s keeping up with stuff, too, Hazel.”_

_Glo…Hazel cringed at the sound of the name. Santana attempted to work in the name ‘Hazel’ as much as possible, both to get herself used to thinking of Downward Facing Smile as Hazel and not Gloria, and to get Hazel used to hearing and responding to that name. She knew Gloria hated responding to it, but all it took was for her to miss responding to the name one time, to the wrong person, and the whole thing would be a bust._

_“Besides, I’m not doing inventory. I’m going over the inventory reports. There’s something here that I’m missing.”_

_Hazel startled suddenly, as if shocked, and Santana noticed. “Something wrong?”_

_She shook her head. “Just the baby.”_

_Santana was more attentive. “Everything, okay?”_

_“I think we woke him up.”_

_Without asking, Santana placed a hand on Hazel’s belly. Startled by the contact, Hazel gently angled herself away from the touch. Santana curled her fingers away, adjusting on the couch._

_“Sorry.”_

_Hazel merely nodded, concentrating on the feeling inside of her. “I think he has hiccups.”_

_“They get those?”_

_“You get them, don’t you?”_

_“Well, yeah, but I’m a human.”_

_Hazel almost laughed. “So is he.”_

_“What are you missing?”_

_“If I knew that, I’d be in bed by now.” Hazel gave something resembling a smile._

_“If you don’t know what it is that you’re missing something, how do you know you’re missing anything?”_

_Santana gave a shrug. “Call it my Mexican Third Eye.”_

_Hazel relaxed, and Santana guessed it was because the baby had stopped doing whatever the baby had been doing. Santana watched her intently. “What’s it like?”_

_“What?”_

_She gestured vaguely. “The kicks, the hiccups, the…it of it all. You’ve got a human growing inside of you!”_

_“I swear you’re more excited about him than I am.” Hazel shrugged. “Mostly, I feel the uncertainty. I…never wanted kids, that was Jenna’s thing. Maybe it will be my thing now.”’_

_Santana bit down on the corner of her lip. She couldn’t help but to think about Quinn. She couldn’t help but wonder how she and_ Martin _were doing. Were they planning on having kids together? Could Santana bear to be involved in a life she wasn’t a part of?_

_Santana checked back into the present, and what Hazel had just said. “Hazel, I’m sorry if you felt-,”_

_Hazel cut her off. “Look, I’m not going to blame you for that. You’re right, I probably would have spent my life regretting it if I had an abortion, but…I still don’t think I’m a mother.”_

_“You don’t have to be,” Santana said, softly. She felt guilty for even talking Hazel out of the abortion in the first place. She just knew Quinn, and her regrets, and…but it hadn’t been her right. And Glora…Hazel…whomever,_ wasn’t _Quinn. She was her own person, able to figure out what she wanted without any feedback from the peanut gallery._

_“It’s too late to abort, and I wouldn’t, now, anyway.”_

_“There’s adoption.”_

_“You would say that after you went on about your friend?”_

_“Because_ she _regrets giving up her daughter. Every day. But you aren’t her, Hazel. If…you don’t see yourself loving him, why not give him to someone that does?”_

_“Like?”_

_Santana swallowed, but sat straighter. “Me.” It was something that she had been thinking about for a while, though she surprised herself by saying it out loud._

_She could see Hazel considering for the briefest of minutes. “Santana you’re 22, and-,”_

_“And?”_

_“And you were just rejected.”_

_“Thanks for the reminder.”_

_Hazel put a hand over Santana’s. “What I mean by that is that you’re only doing this because you were rejected. You’re only here because of that.”_

_“Not true.”_

_Hazel stared intensely into Santana’s eyes. “If I wasn’t pregnant, would you have bothered helping me out? Would you be doing any of this?” She gestured, vaguely._

_“Yes.”_

_“Why?”_

_“Because no one deserves to go through what you went through.”_

_“But people do, and you’re not off rescuing everyone else.”_

_“I don’t know everyone else.”_

_“So that’s why you did this?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“And you’re sure it has nothing to do with how much you hate_ her _?” Santana’s face tightened only slightly, but Hazel had learned to read even the slightest changes in emotion. Santana realized she was being read, and let her guard relax. “Because if you hate her, how in the world could you love him?” She placed a hand on her abdomen to reinforce her statement.  “You understand that this child will be related to her, right? The Healy blood will be inside of him, and he may end up looking like her? Have the same expressions as her? You really think that you can love that?”_

_Sudden clarity came to Santana. “Is that what you’re worried about?” Hazel blinked back tears, nodding sadly. “I never wanted this, and…what if I don’t love him?”  Santana pulled her into her arms._

_“You will.”_

_“You don’t know that.”_

_“No,” Santana agreed. “I don’t. The baby will be related to Jenna, yeah, but he will also be part you.”_

_Hazel laughed harshly. “Which part? The part that never raised a hand to protect myself, or the part that allowed myself to stay with her for so long?”_

_“The part of you that refuses to give up, no matter what.” Hazel said nothing, and they just sat in the embrace. “You’re wrong: I don’t hate Jenna. She…scares me, in more ways than one. She’s, like that character Two-Face. One part’s good, and one part’s evil. There are a lot of things that Jenna and I have in common, and Jenna’s this constant reminder of what my bad characteristics would look like if they went to the extreme. She drugged me, jumped me, and dumped me in a cell for more than a day, and as much as that makes me_ really _angry, me being here has nothing to do with my dislike of that woman. Me helping you has less to do with you being pregnant, or you ‘belonging to Jenna’ than it does with you just being safe.”_

_“Until Quinn comes calling, and then you’ll be running back to Boston.’_

_Santana shook her head and the thought. “That won’t happen.”_

_“Which part, Quinn calling, or you going running?”_

_“Either. I’m going back to Boston once the baby’s born, yes, because I have to, because my life, and job, and school are in Boston, but I said I was going to help, and I mean it. I’m not just going to disappear on you. I’m your comadre, and that’s something I take seriously.”_

_“With everything that’s going on in your life, how could you possibly take care of him, if I did want to give him up? Who’s going to watch him between classes, and when you go on your ‘vacations’? Or when you work this out with Quinn, and she decides she doesn’t want to raise someone else’s kid?”_

_When it was put that way…but there was no she and Quinn, there would never be a she and Quinn. It was time that Santana realized that. Hazel placed a hand on Santana’s cheek while she tried to come up with an answer. Hazel gave a tired smile, that was part admiring., part exasperated. “Mighty Talos. I can’t fault you, for trying to be the hero to everybody. I may not be mother material, but this guy, he needs to come first. That’s the least I can do for him.”_

_Hazel sipped at her tea, and Santana picked up her mug and did the same. “Sorry for keeping you up.” Hazel waved the words away. “Thanks for the tea.”_

_“It was Pe’s favorite.” Santana gave her a sideways look at the voluntary mention. Hazel went on without prodding. “She goes through bouts of insomnia. Whenever something was on her mind, she would stay up for days, and the nights she did sleep, sometimes it was for as little as a few hours at a time, so she’d get jittery.” Hazel lifted the cup. “This helped to calm her down.”_

_“That must have been fun, dealing with her when she was like that.”_

_Hazel shrugged. “It was no different than when she slept well. Pe was used to surviving off of few hours of sleep; she grew up in a military household.”_

_Something that Santana should have realized a long time ago just occurred to her. “Jenna has money.”_

_Hazel gave her a strange look “Yes.”_

_“I mean serious money. Military families usually don’t have the kind of digs that Jenna has.”_

_“Her father is a general.”_

_“Which means his salary is between what $100,000 to $200,000 a year?”_

_“Yes,” Hazel said in a voice that clearly said she doubted Santana’s intelligence at the moment, “but generally speaking, generals don’t typically come from disadvantaged backgrounds.”_

_“No,” Santana agreed. “They usually come from families of clout.” Gloria, Santana knew, came from the same such family. She was sure that Bryne and Paulson knew everything that there was to know about Gloria (there had to be a reason that Bryne had been allowed to help set up the ‘accident’), but Santana didn’t really know anything about her. “How’d you meet Jenna?”_

_Gloria fidgeted with her mug. “I never_ met _Pe,_ _not the way you think about meeting people. One day she was just in my life. In the world I grew up in, we don’t fall in love, we fall into business deals. I was groomed to be Bug’s wife. She was always around at events and dinners. We weren’t particularly fond of each other until Bug and I got engaged, and she became interested in a serious of lenses that we were developing at my lab. We started spending more time together, and you know her: she has a penchant for wanting things someone else has.”_

 _That Jenna had stolen Gloria from her brother was not surprising in the least, what was surprising was the other things that Hazel said. “_ Your _lab?”_

_Hazel gave a bitter grimace. “Yes. I was an optical engineer before we got together.”_

_That must have been a big step down, from being an engineer to being Jenna’s punching bag._

_“Optics is lasers and stuff, right?”_

_“Lasers pretty much saved the field, but it’s more than just that.” Hazel’s eyes trailed to the top of one of her stacks.  “They really keep up with how many pens they have on site?”_

_It was a subtle attempt to change the subject, and Santana allowed for the subject to change.      “Yes.”_

_Hazel picked up the paper, and because there was nothing classified on it, or anything else she was currently looking at, Santana allowed her to do so, making a mental note where exactly it belonged._

_“Buckley really spends this much a year on_ pens?”

                Santana leaned over to look at the paper, smile on face. “It’s really not all that much if you think about it…” she cursed, softly, causing Hazel to look at her in curiosity.

                “What?” _Hazel demanded, as Santana started pulling papers towards her._

_“I think my baby just kicked,” Santana said nonsensically._

_“What?”_

_“It’s_ not _a lot of money,” she said in answer, clarifying nothing. She pulled up the reports on her laptop for the pens supply for the last five years, doing mental calculations at the same time she was pulling out her physical calculator. “Holy shit! I found it!”_

_“Found what?”_

_“A trail.”_

_Tomorrow Santana would have to make a trip to the base, demand personnel records, though if she was right about her hunch, she was sure she wouldn’t have to look too far. There were only a handful of people who could be held responsible._

_Hazel was looking at her curiously, so she spoke her thoughts because sometimes saying something aloud helps to sort it out. “When it comes to budgetary spending, the fiscal year ends September 30 th, so around the end of the year you see a decrease in essential spending, and an increase in petty spending._

_“By that time all essential items have either been bought, or put on like a ‘wish list’ for next year. Government money doesn’t roll over. If you don’t spend it, you don’t get more the next year; actually you’re far more likely to get your budget cut, the thinking being that if you’re not spending the money that we give you, why would we give you more? So you see this mad scramble to get rid of money, so you see a lot of purchases for pens, new keyboards, mice, company picnics, etc. All legit purchases, as long as you can justify it. For the last three years, Buckley has followed that trend to a T. Perfectly actually. Their personnel increased by 10%, so did the amount of money they spent on pens, and the amount of pens they purchased in the month of August and September was 27.5% more than what they purchased during any other months. Perfectly logical.”_

_“What’s the problem?”_

_Santana showed Hazel a handful of items lists. “This is the requests, and this is the inventory. Three years ago, Buckley switched to a different kind of standard pen, one that is $.03 cheaper per pen than the ones they were using. Cheaper pens, yet the cost off the pens is exactly the same. So is the amount of pens inventoried. They can’t both be the same! If you spent more money on cheaper pens, there should be more pens. There should not be the same amount of pens, but more money spent. You see?”_

_“So somebody’s stealing pens? Seriously does Special Circumstances care about that?”_

_“General services,” Santana corrected. “And no. But they aren’t stealing pens, they’re stealing money.”_

_“How do you know that?”_

_“Because no one is going to falsify a government document just to pocket a box of pens.”_

_“What if they really just wanted pens. They could be nice pens.”_

_Santana was a bit surprised by the playful tone of Hazel’s statement. “Because taking a box of pens home from the office can get you reprimanded, possibly fired, but actually falsifying a government document is a felony, and no one commits those for office supplies. Besides, if they were stealing actual supplies you’d have to worry about moving the merchandise. Pens, packs of paper, ink, are all low ticket items that you’d have to move a lot of to make it worth your while. The more merch were talking about, the more breadcrumbs you set down, the more likely you are to get caught. Money is more fluid. I just have to find out who is doing it, and how much they’ve managed to siphon off.”_

_Santana was back to talking to herself. “In order to pull it off, though, the person is probably faking the purchase orders. They’d have to have the legitimate purchase order, with the correct number of supplies on it, and then the fake one that was invoiced with the higher price on it.  I’m pretty certain that if I go back over every non-essential purchase for the last three years, I’ll find the same pattern.”_

_Hazel sat in thought for a minute. “You’re not going to bed tonight are you?”_

_Santana was momentarily brought out of her work. Santana would need to go back over all of the petty purchase invoices and inventory to make sure her theory was, in fact, correct, then, in the morning she’d need to make a call to have employee records, she’d need time logs, date stamps. She raised her head. “No.”_

_Hazel nodded, getting to her feet with only a little bit of difficulty. “Good night, Santana.”_

_“Night, Haze,” she mumbled, mind already back to her work. The Post-Its were already showing the same pattern as the pens. Santana smiled to herself._ Even the smartest person always left a trail.

                Santana startled from her dream when she heard a knock at the door Her computer screen was still open, Framingham showing on the very edge of the screen. She closed the laptop, getting to her feet at the very distinctive sound of the knocking growing musical. Santana sighed, fixing a smile to her face. After all, she had invited this beast.

                She opened the door. “Rachel!”

                Rachel pushed past her brusquely. “No time to talk, Santana,” the woman said, pushing her way into the apartment. “We’re on a very strict timeline.” She breathed out deeply, as if to center herself. Santana rolled her eyes, and hid her smile.

**Author's Note:**

> So quick note. I promise that this isn't going to turn into a "Phil thing" like FTW was a Santana's job thing. This first chapter was just to get that issue kind of out of the way. This story is about Santana and Quinn learning how to be married to each other. It'll be mostly fluff, romance, with a little hurt/comfort and angst thrown in for variety. Any questions just leave in the reviews, or pm me and I'll answer it. Cheers!


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